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"Vollmar and the old man, -who, considering 
age, was still very powerful, drew* it entirely out. 
Page 59 


his 




NEW yore: 


P. J. KENEDY, 
Excelsior Catholic Publishing Douse, 
5 BARCLAY STREET. 


A ) J 




,( S 34 ? 

13 ^ 


altered, According to Act of in the year 1848, 

Ry EDWARD DUNIGAN, 

He Clerk's Office of the Diet ret Court of the United States Hr 
the Southern D'ietjict of New- York* 



8y Tnmsftr 

D. C. Public Uhrtfy 


OCT 2 1 1938 



he Vollmar family, 
which consisted of the 
father, Frederic Voll- 
mar, an eminent mer- 
chant, his wife Te- 
resa, a most amiable 
lady, and two promising children, Max- 
imilian and Fanny, was one of the richest, 
and, what is far better, one of the wor- 
thiest in the great commercial city where 
they resided. Mr Vollmar had inherited 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


from his father a very extensive and 
flourishing trade, and *>y his own talents, 
industry, and integrity had enlarged and 
improved it, and acquired a very con- 
siderable fortune. But he was not un- 
duly elevated by his prosperity, and would 
often say to his wife : “ Dear Teresa, 
every thing that we possess is the gift 
of God ; but our children are our rich- 
est treasures, and to bring them up 
well is our first and most essential obliga- 
tion/’ 

Up to the period at which our tale com- 
mences, V oil mar had been uniformly suc- 
cessful iii all his commercial underta- 
kings ; but a reverse came at last. One 
morning, as lie sat at the breakfast-table 
with his wife and children, the postman 
brought him a letter which announced 
that an extensive house with which he 
nad been connected, had most unexpected 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ly failed, and that their liabilities reached 
to an enormous amount. 

This was a great blow for Mr. Voll- 
mar : a large portion of his property was 
lost ; but, as he had not been puffed up bv 
prosperity and wealth, so neither was he 
cast down by misfortune and failure. 
“ The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken 
away !”*said he to his wife ; and she un 
hesitatingly added, “ Blessed be the name 
of the Lord !” 

Vollmar took advantage of this melan- 
choly event to impress a lesson on his 
children. 

“ This,” said he, “ is what I have al- 
ways said to you : we must never place 
our trust in the wealth, of this world, but 
only in God, who gives- and' takes it away, 
and who can restore it to us when it ac- 
cords with His all-wise designs. This is 
\ truth which. you. may clearly learn from 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 


the history of your grandfather and groat, 
grandfather, whose portraits, as you see 
from their richly gilt frames, are the most 
cherished ornaments of this apartment. 
Your great-grandfather, Lucas Yollmar, 
(who was my grandfather,) was by far 
the richest man in this city. If all that 
we have, or ever had, were put together, 
it would be but a trifle, compared with 
his enormous property. But he lost all in 
the Thirty Years' War, of which you 
have often heard. He was obliged to fly 
from the enemy. My grandmother did 
not long survive this affliction ; she died 
a little before her husband was compelled 
to fly from his home ; their only son, my 
father, was an infant at the time ; and my 
g andfather took him with him in his 
flight. Soon after this the city was hard 
pressed by the enemy : numberless balls 
and shd.ls, which are even to this day 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

occasionally found in the walls, were 
thrown into the town, and many houses 
were levelled to the ground. A large 
shell fell into this very house in which 
we are now living, and damaged it ex- 
ceedingly, without, however, setting in on 
fire. The city was sacked and pillaged — 
numberless families were reduced to the 
most extreme distress, and many were 
carried off by famine and pestilence. It 
was indeed a time of affliction and sorrow. 

“Meanwhile my grandfather was re- 
siding in a foreign country, where he was 
sorely pressed by want ; for though he 
had provided himself with a large sum of 
money for his journey, he had the mis- 
fortune of being plundered by the enemy 
upon the road. The friends on whose as- 
sistance he had calculated, received him 
with great coldness: as long as he was 

rich the) had treated him with deference, 

11 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


Dut now that he was visited by nilsfor- 
.une, they would hardly recognise him, 
and he thought himself very fortunate in 
being able to obtain a trifling subordinate 
appointment in the commissariat depart- 
ment. He placed his son Hugh, (my 
father,) as soon as he was old enough, as 
apprentice in a respectable mercantile 
house, some miles distant from the place 
where he resided : but when the boy was 
scarcely fourteen years old, his father was 
suddenly carried off by a violent fever 
which prevailed in the district in conse- 
quence of the war. As soon as he sus- 
pected that his death was approaching, 
he dispatched a special messenger to sum- 
mon his beloved and only son Hugh, with 
all speed to his death-bed. But he only 
arrived to behold his dear father a corpse, 
and to bathe his pallid face with tears 

Thus died this worthy man, who but a 
12 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

few years before was universally esteemed 
and possessed immense riches, — in a for- 
eign land — an exile, and almost in pov- 
erty and wretchedness His son’s grief 
by his death-bed was indescribable ; but 
from that moment, which took from him 
every earthly support, he clung yet more 
confidingly than ever to God. 

When he had completed his appren- 
ticeship, he remained for some years with 
his master in the capacity of clerk, and in 
course of time, rose to the post of book- 
keeper. At the termination of this de- 
structive war and the re-establishment of 
peace in the country, he returned to this, 
our paternal city, poor in earthly sub- 
stance, but rich in knowledge and virtue. 
He had acquired a thorough familiarity 
with business. By the kind exertions of 
the magistrate he recovered this house 
which we now inhabit ; it contained noth- 

2 13 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ing but empty boxes ; except that to his 
g’-eat delight he found two admirable por- 
traits of his parents uninjured — I have kept 
them still,” said Volmar, turning to the 
children. “ You see them there. Has 
not your great-grandfather a truly vener- 
able appearance in that antique costume ? 
And your great-grandmother — do not her 
looks bespeak a pious, modest, gentle 
dame ? Ah, my dear children, they were 
both true Christian souls. Now look at 
the portraits of my own parents, your 
grand father and grandmother. I got them 
both painted and framed to match the 
other portraits. You knew the former, 
Max, and can recollect his features ; — he 
often carried you in his arms, and fondled 
you on his knee ; and both of you can 
recollect the good, kind old lady, who was 
so fond of you and used to give you such 
fine Christmas-boxes. 

14 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


“ Your grandfather was obliged to begin 
life with nothing — aye, with less than 
nothing, for he was in debt. He chose as 
his wife, notwithstanding, a poor but pru- 
dent and virtuous girl, whose parents had 
ost all, like himself, in the war ; feeling 
convinced that, under her management, 
his domestic concerns would be more 
prosperous, than under another who might 
have a great deal of money, but little pru- 
dence or virtue. And he was right. His 
own skill, industry, activity, and integrity, 
coupled with her wise economy and skil- 
ful domestic arrangements, secured for 
them no inconsiderable success. 

* lNow hearken, dear children, to the les- 
son which this history teaches you. 

“As the example of your great-grand- 
father shows you how easily one may, 
without any fault, lose an immense prop- 
erty to the very uttermost farthing; so 

15 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


that of your grandfather proves that by 
piety, industry, and uprightness, one may 
rise from poverty to independence. My 
father illustrated by his own example what 
he often used to say to me. Rich as he 
became, he always adhered to his simple, 
unpretending habits of life ; never squan- 
dering money uselessly, but always laying 
up something for a day of need. Yet he 
was far from being a niggard. His work- 
men and servants were always the very 
best ; and he paid and maintained them 
well and generously ; and he always was 
a great benefactor to the poor. 

“I trust that I too have followed his ad- 
vice and his example. Had your mother 
and I indulged in the profuse expenditure 
which our wealth would have warrant- 
ed — purchased splendid furniture — given 
sumptuous entertainments — kept carriages 

and horses — travelled abroad for pleas- 
16 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 


ure or a thousand similar things, our po 
sition would now be very unhappy ; and 
the great loss which we have encountered, 
would probably involve the ruin of our 
house. And thus we may console oui- 
selves for the loss ; it will cause no grea' 
derangement in my business : I shall be 
able to go on as heretofore ; and we ait- 
spared the necessity of making any re- 
trenchment in our style of living, which, 
when it is suddenly enforced, is always 
painful and humiliating.” 

By such discourses as these, Mr. Voll 
mar had the wisdom to draw from this 
afflicting event the most important advan- 
tages for his children — as the bee draws 
honey even from poisonous flowers. 

His misfortunes, however, were not yet 
at an end. The fall of the great firm, by 
which he had been so great a sufferer, 

drew afier it other mercantile houses also, 
2 * 


17 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


Dy which he incurred still further losses 
He felt most sincerely for them all 
They are far more unfortunate than I,” 
said he. “ How gladly would I assist 
them all, were it in my power!” As it 
was, he did all that he could , and where 
it was possible yet to redeem their credit, 
he supported them so generously by his 
money and his name, that they were en- 
abled still to carry on their business. 

The times, however, became still more 
unfavorable for business, and a great stag- 
nation of trade ensued. Wares, which a 
little before had been most profitable, now 
ceased to be in demand, and lay upon his 
hands. 

“ Well, well,” said Yollmar, “ the times 

are changed, it is true, but we are not 

alone in this ; the husbandman, too, when 

he has tilled his farm in the sweat of his 

brow, looks forward to a rich harvest 
18 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


but bad weather or hail-storms often dash 
his hopes to the ground. Why should the 
merchant be more fortunate ? God has 
wise ends in every thing that befalls us ; 
and even what afflicts us most, often turns 
out to be for our good. We must rely on 
this, and say with courage and confidence : 
‘ His holy will be done !’ ” 

But a new misfortune fell severely upon 
him. A ship with a very valuable cargo, 
for which he already had a great many 
orders, was lost at sea. He was deeply 
grieved at the news, but he thanked God 
that at least the crew were saved. “One 
human life, 5 ' said he, “is worth more than 
the whole ship’s cargo.” 

His position, meanwhile, became ev- 
ery day more critical. He examined his 
books and balanced the state of his affairs. 
M Alas !” said he. as he laid down his pen, 
“can it then be that I must give up my 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


business, and that I shall have hardly any 
tiling left of all my property? Well, it is 
some comfort, at least, that I can pay mv 
creditors honestly, and that nobody will 
lose by me. My conscience in the sight 
of God, and my honor in the eyes of men, 
are untouched ; nor is there any man 
breathing who has reason to speak ill of 
my name. And, after all, if my creditors 
do not press me — if they give me time to 
arrange my affairs, I hope I shall yet ex- 
tricate myself from my present difficul- 
ties. ’’ 

But there was a rich banker who threat 
ened to disappoint him in this expectation. 
Vollmar had given bills to this banker for 
near ten thousand dollars, which were due 
within eight days. He begged him to 
allow him a little longer time ; but the 
banker unfeelingly replied : “ Not an hour 
—you must pay, or I shall protest your 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


bills, and have you arrested; — unless I 
have my money in good current coin 
here upon the table by this day week — that 



is,” said he, looking at his day-book, “on 

Thursday, the 20th of June, inst., you 

shall undoubtedly go to prison.’’ 

Poor Mr. Vollmar returned home with 

a heavy heart. “ Alas,” said he, “ it is 

only for my wife and children I care. 

Oh ! how will they be afflicted if their 

father be cast into prison ! Avert, O mer- 

21 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ciful God, in thy mercy, avert this sorrow 
from them !” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE BLIND OLD MAN. 

Vollmar now determined to ask two 
of his friends, whom he had himself often 
assisted in pecuniary difficulties, to lend 
him the necessary sum. He knew that 
they could both together command as 
much ready money as would meet his 
necessity ; and he had no doubt that they 
would credit his assurance, that they ran 
no risk of losing a single dollar by the 
advance. But the first of them told him, 
with a thousand expressions of politeness, 
that he regretted extremely it was not in 
his power to serve him, being himself 

obliged to make at that moment a large 
22 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

payment ; the other shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and gave him very significantly to 
understand that he did not fully trust his 
assurances, and that he had his doubts of 
his solvency. This ingratitude, on the 
part of his supposed friends, pained the 
poor merchant to the heart. “ But, at all 
events,” thought he, “ I still have one 
Friend who surely will not desert me.” 

He passed out of the city gate — “ Yes, 
my dear Lord,” cried he, looking up to 
heaven, as soon as he was in the open 
country, “ Thou, at least, canst not — Thou 
will not forsake me. In Thee have I ever 
trusted ; to Thee I commend my wife and 
my children Thou wilt be a father to 
us all !” 

He walked on to his villa, endeavoring 
to banish his melancholy anticipations, 
and relieve his oppressed heart. He en- 
tered the garden; the sun was shining 

23 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


with unusual beauty, the birds were sing 
ing their evening song, the flowers b <K>m- 
ed in all their varied hues ; still his heart 
became all at once indescribably heavy. 
"‘•Ah !” said he, “ it will grieve me sorely 
to part with my sweet garden, on which 
I have expended so much, and in which I 
have spent so many happy hours. But, 
alas, it is inevitable ; and perhaps I shall 
even be driven with my wife and children 
to leave house and home, and seek a 
refuge in God knows what corner of the 
earth !” 

He became very melancholy, and was 
on the point of kneeling down to pray for 
help and comfort to God, who, in all his 
ways, is ever wisdom and mercy itself; 
but, as he perceived people in the next 
garden, he went into his summer-house, 
that he might pray in secret. There, in 
the little room, he fell upon his knees, and 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


poured out his heart before his God, with- 
out restraint. “ In Thee, O Lord/* cried 
he, “ I place my trust — 1 throw' myself 
unreservedly into thy paternal arms ; do 
with me according to thy holy wdll !” 
And in this posture, with clasped hands 
and upturned eyes, he remained a long 
time motionless on his knees. 

On a sudden he heard outside of the 
wundow, a clear sw r eet voice, saying in a 
loud and expressive tone, “Courage! God 
will yet help us !” He arose and went to 
the window, which commanded a view of 
the field A narrow footpath, leading to- 
wards the town, ran between the fields 
and the garden, and along this path he 
saw advancing a venerable old man, with 
snow-white hair, led by a beautiful curly 
headed, rosy-cheeked boy. The garb of 
both was poor, but extremely clean. As 
they came directly opposite, the little boy 

3 25 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


said, in the same clear and distinct voice : 
“ Here is a nice green seat under this 
tree; you are very tired, dear grand- 
father ; rest here a while, and don’t be 
cast down. It is not far to the town now 
— I can see the gate.” 



They both sat down under the tree, 
which was upon a little mound, a few 
paces from the summer-house. The even- 
ing sun shone full upon the venerable face 

36 


THE I JEST INHERITANCE. 


of the old man and the fair brow of the 
.ittle boy ; and the expression of tender 
anxiety for the old man which beamed 
from the boy’s eyes, was to Mr. Volimar 
a most interesting spectacle. But he was 
himself concealed from them by the green 
Venetian blind which hung before the 
window. 

“ Ah, it was a great venture/’ said the 
old man, after a pause ; “ for me, blind ana 
old as I am, to undertake this long jour 
ney ; and I am not without anxiety now. 
They told me, to be sure, that this fa- 
mous doctor had cured a great many poor 
blind people for nothing, and I hope he 
will be equally charitable to me. But can 
my blindness really be cured ? Our little 
purse is almost emptied by the journey : 
perhaps the treatment will take a long 
time, and then what shall we have to live 
on ? It is now fifty years since I worked 

27 


TIIE BESl INHERITANCE. 


in this town as a journeyman mason, 
don’t know a soul in it now, nor will there 
be any one to know -me. The people who 
lived here then were very industrious and 
thriving, and therefore very independent 
and very charitable ; but their hones 
have long been laid in the earth. Heav- 
en grant we may find among the present 
generation some charitable people, who 
may make room for us in some little cor- 
ner of their house, and give us some trifle 
to eat, and not charge us too much for it.” 

** Don’t be afraid, dearest grandfather,” 
said the boy. “ Even though our money 
should run out, I will beg hard of the rich 
people in the town to take pity on you 
They will not have die heart to let you 
die of hunger or distress. And besides, 
you should not forget that — God is over 
al«. You are always reminding me of 
this. He will watch over us, and throw 


THE BEST INHERIT ANCE. 


us in the way of some charitable Chris- 
tian.” 

“ I hope so,” said his grandfather, “ but 
still I am cast down, and cannot shake ofl 
my gloom.” 

“ But only think, dearest gradfather,” 
said the boy, “ I have led you by the hand 
all the way here. Do you imagine 1 
could have the heart to run away now, 
and leave you here to shift for yourself? 
Well, do not think worse of our merciful 
God than you would of a poor simple boy. 
It would be a sin to do so.” 

“You are right, dear Aloysius,” replied 
the old man ; “God,, who has led us so far, 
will not forsake us now. He will con- 
tinue to watch over the poor blind, man !*’ 

Mr. Vollmar, who had distinctly heard 
this conversation, was deeply moved. 
“O my God!” exclaimed he, “I am not 

alone in misery. To be blind — to be de- 
3 * 29. 


'I HE BEST INHERITANCE. 


baned the sight of the beautiful olue sky 
the green trees, the flowers, the sun, the 
faces of men — this, ah ! this indeed is hard 
— far harder than what has befallen me ! 
I still have both my eyes, sound and 
whole ; and though my whole fortune 
were gone, what would it be compared 
with the loss of my eyes ? How well this 
poor old man and his sweet little grandson 
know how to cheer their Wretchedness by 
confidence in God! And is it right for 
me to be less trustful in Him?” 

Meanwhile his wife came into the gar- 
den, with her two children. She was 
more distressed by her husband’s affliction 
than by the prospect of the loss of their 
property. He had told her, on leaving 
the house, that he had one or two calls to 
make, ai d would meet her at the villa 
and she had followed him thither to keep 
him from brooding alone over his misfor* 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 

tunes, and as far as possible to cheer and 
console him. She brought the children to 
one of the currant-bushes, and gave them 
leave to eat some, telling them afterwards 
to fill the little basket, which Fanny car- 
ried on her arm. She then followed her 
husband to the summer-house, not finding 
him in the garden. 

“ How do you feel, dearest Frederic,” 
she asked-— “ what are you doing ?” 

“ I have received great comfort,” he re- 
plied, in a low tone, motioning to her 
also to speak low. “ God has sent a little 
boy here to teach me confidence in His 
providence. But hush, look here !” 

He led her to the window, and told her, 
in a low voice, what he had just heard 
from the old man and the sweet little 
boy. They were discussing, at that mo- 
ment, how they could find a lodging in 
the vast city, and how they s^juld, with 

31 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


their slender purse, be able to get through 
without being obliged to beg, Their con- 
versation deeply affected the kind-hearted 
lady. 

“ Dearest Frederic,” said she to her 
husband, “ what would you think, if we 
were to take this old man and the dear 
little boy into our house ?” 

“ What ?” said Vollmar, “ is it now ? in 
our present circumstances? The whole 
city would cry out against us. We are 
ourselves, perhaps, in danger of being soon 
as poor as these poor people!” 

“Ah!” said his wife, “you are too de- 
sponding. I still have hopes. And even 
though we were to lose the greater part 
of our property, we should still, please 
God, have enough to be able to give a 
meal to a blind old man and a poor child. 
What these poor people would cost us 
will make no great change in our present 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


circumstances. We can give them a 
room in our large house without its cost- 
ing us a penny, and their support will 
make no notable difference in our house, 
where, at times, above twenty dine every 
lay. Let us take them in. Christ our 
Lord says : ‘ Be ye merciful, and ye shall 
find mercy !’ ” 

“ Well,” said Vollmar, “ though you be 
of the weaker sex, you have more courage 
than I. Be it so ; we will give them food 
and lodging, and eall in the oculist, who, 
by-the-by, is our family physician, to the 
old man.” 

The old man here stood up ; the boy 
took him by the hand, and led him on. 
They went very slowly. The lady went 
to her children and said : "Come with me, 
Max!” Both the children followed her to 
the garden gate. “ See,” said she, “ there 
on the footpath is walking a blind old 

33 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


man, whh a little boy leading him. Tel 
them to come to us here in the garden ; 
that we wish to speak with them.” 

The children ran as fast as they could, 
and gave the message. 

When the old man and the boy, accom- 
panied by the children, came near the 
gate, Mr. Vollmar and his generous wife 
were standing there to meet them. They 
manifested the liveliest sympathy with 
the old man in his blindness; praised the 
boy who had taken so much care of him, 
and offered to provide for them both in 
their house till the cure of his eves should 

J 

be quite complete. The old man felt as 
though he had fallen from the heavens 
“ Good God !” said he, clasping his hands, 
“ trust in Thee is never in vain !” 

“Now you see, dear grandfather,” said 
the bo* - , “ that God never forsakes hi* 
own !” 

34 


TIIE BEST INHERITANCE. 


Vollmar and his wife brought the old 
man and his grandson into the garden 
seated them on a bench, and inquired af- 
fectionately into his circumstances. His 
name was Christian Selb, he was by trade 
a mason, and lived with his son at a very 
distant village. He had been blind seven 
years, he said, and was most affectionate- 
ly maintained by his son and daughter-in- 
aw, of whom he spoke most tenderly, as 
well as of their children, of whom Aloy- 
sius was the oldest. Mr. and Mrs. Voll- 
mar brought them to their house and 
gave them a very neat little apartment ; 
and Mrs. Vollmar herself carried them 
their supper. On the following day Mr. 
Vollrnar brought the oculist, who, the 
moment he examined the old man’s eyes, 
pronounced it a case of common cataract, 
and expressed a fope of being able to 
cure him. “We must first, however," 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

baid he, “give the poor old man three 
days’ rest after the fatigues of his journey, 
and then, with God’s help, we shall set 
about the operation.” 

“Now, God be praised !” eried Aloysius. 
“ I will pray fervently to Him for these 
three days, to guide the surgeon’s judg- 
ment and hand in the operation.” 

“ Do so, my deac little fellow,” said the 
surgeon, “ and our operation cannot fail.” 

On the morning of the third day, the 
surgeon came to perform the operation. 
The old man was placed upon a seat ; 
the surgeon produced his instruments ; 
little Aloysius knelt at a little distance,-- 
his uplifted hands trembled with anxiety, 
and, with beating heart and stifled breath, 
he riveted his eyes upon the surgeon. 
Farther off stood Vollmar, his wife, and 
his two children. No one else was ad 
mitted, though every one in the house 

36 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


would have gladly been present. Every 
thing was so still that you would have 
heard a pin fall. With a steady hand, 
the surgeon made the necessary incisions, 
and in a little while the old man cried 
out : “ Ah ! I see ! Dearest grandson, I 
see your face ! Oh, join me in thanking 
God and the good surgeon !” 

The little boy jumped up, kissed the 
doctor’s hand repeatedly, and skipped 
about for joy. 

u Oh, God be praised !” cried he. “ Oh 
how delighted will my father and mother, 
and my brothers and sisters all be, when 1 
shall bring home my grandfather with his 
sight once more !” 

The old man sat with clasped hands, 
and prayed in silence. Mr. Vollmar and 
his wife joined heartily in his silent thanks- 
giving; but the two children exulted aa 

loudly as the delighted grandson, and cor- 

4 n 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


dially congratulated the old man and the 
surgeon on the result of the operation. 

“ Foi the present/' said the surgeon, 
we must cover up his eyes ; as yet they 
would not be able to bear the light.” 
But he promised to come every day and 
see them, till the cure should be com- 
pleted, directing the patient, meanwhile, 
to be kept perfectly quiet, and to be very 
temperate in eating and drinking. When 
he took his leave, Mr. and Mrs. Vollmar 
accompanied him ; while the joyous ex- 
clamations of the three children, “ He sees 
he sees !” rang through the house, and 
the whole family was full of jubilee and 
exultation. 

Meanwhile, the old man knelt down, 
with his eyes bandaged, to give thanks to 
God ; he prayed for a long time, and his 
grandson knelt beside him in shent prayer 

38 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ECOE HOMO. 

" Every thing is going on favorably,** 
said the surgeon, when he had examined 
the old man’s eyes on the third day after- 
wards ; “ this room, however, is too light- 
some to permit his eyes to familiarize 
themselves gradually with the light. But 
I remember, my dear Mr. Vollmar, thav 
you have below-stairs, on the ground- 
floor, a very neat little apartment, which 
opens into your garden : it is painted 
green, and the garden outside is covered 
with green turf, and shaded with dense 
foliage, and even the garden walls are 
covered with green leaves. Will you 
permit this good old man, in whom you 
are so interested, to spend a few hours 
there each day ?” 


39 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


“With a thousand welcomes/' said Voll- 
mar, “ he may sit as long as he chooses 
there each day. It is a very cool, pleasant 
little spot, especially in the heat of the 
day, and the light which comes through 
the glass doors is uncommon mild and 
agreeable." 

“Glass duors!” cried Aloysius, who was 
a simple country boy, “ that is very strange, 
I should like to see them !" 

“ May 1 not show them to him ?" asked 
little Max. “ He will require to know the 
way, in order to be able to lead his grand- 
father there." 

“Well then go down together," said 
Mr. Vollmar ; and the two boys ran off. 
hand in hand, and Fanny followed then? 
at a more quiet pace. The only orna- 
ment of this pretty little room was a valu- 
able painting, representing our Lord with 
the crown of thorns on his head, the 


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ourple garment on his shoulders, and the 
leed in his hand. It was a half-length, but 
as large as life, and magnificently framed 
As soon as Aloysius saw it, he clasped 
tits hands and cried out, “ Oh ! how beau- 
tiful, how exquisite! That is an Ecce 
Homo! We have one in our house; but 
I never, in all my life, saw our Lord paint- 
ed so beautifully as here. It looks as if 
He were alive ! Oh ! with what patience 
and confidence He raises his eyes to 
Heaven ! It brings the tears to my eyes 
And the crown of thorns — you would take 
them for real thorns — and the drops of 
blood upon the crown of thorns, upon the 
brow, the cheeks, and the shoulders, where 
it is not hid by the purple garment, are sc 
natural that you fancy they are trinkling 
down every moment! Oh, how mucti 
did He suffer for love of us !” 

“ My mother often tells us,” said Fan- 

4 * 41 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ny “that this picture is as if Christ said 
to us : — 

‘ISoru for tlji) safte, UbeTi anti tnetl 
© Christian soul, for tljee! — 

0j), be ft e’er tftn Ijolfest prfOe, 

2To Itbe anti tne for me.’ 

And the other day, when she was herself 
very melancholy, I heard her say, as she 
looked at the picture : ‘ Alas ! if Christ 
suffered so much for us, and bore that 
crown of thorns on his head for our sake, 
how could we expect to go to heaven 
without trials, and to walk as if on a path 
strewn only with roses.’ ” 

“ It is a noble picture,” said Max. “ An 
Englishman, who was paying a bill to my 
father last year, saw it and offered a hun- 
dred pounds for it, though it was then 
hanging in the office covered with smoke 
and dust. At dinner, when my father 
•poke to my mother and the old book- 

42 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


keeper about it, the book-keeper said, ‘i 
would give the picture if I got such an 
oiler — it is so much unemployed capital/ 
But my mother cried out, ‘ Oh ! no, it is 
no such thing ; such a picture as that, so 
beautiful and impressive, is no unprofit- 
able capital. Man liveth not by bread 
alone, nor by the gold which he possesses/ 
‘ Many a time have I too/ said my father, 
‘ contemplated the picture with admira- 
tion ; but it was this English gentleman 
who first pointed out to me its value as a 
work of art/ He afterwards had it clean- 
ed and restored by the most skilful painter 
in the city, and placed it in that handsome 
gilt frame : it was so much improved that 
we could hardly recognise it, and every 
one in the house was enchanted with it.” 

Little Max and Fanny then brought 
Aloysius to the garden. He was delight- 
ed and amused exceedingly by the foun- 

43 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


tain, never having seen one before, and 
he could not cease admiring it. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Volhnar walked into 
the little apartment with the good old 
man, whom he had himself conducted 
down; and, according to the surgeon’s di- 
rections, he removed the bandage from 
his eyes. The first object upon which his 
eyes rested was the beautiful Ecce Homo. 
“ Oh !” cried he, in the utmost astonish- 
ment, “ what do I see ? I know this pic- 
ture well ; I saw it but once in my life, 
and that more than forty years ago, and 
by candlelight ; but I have never lorgot- 
ten it since. Yes, that pale bleeding face 
— that agonizing heavenward look — those 
thorns which lacerate the brow and tem- 
ples, have often haunted me in my dreams. 
The hour in which I saw it was one of 
the most eventful in my life — the very 
thought of it still fills me with agitation/* 

44 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


" Your words amaze me,” replied Voll- 
mar, “I do not comprehend you. Tell me 
how it was that you saw this picture, and 
‘.hat it made such an impression upon 
you.” 

“ Let me first ask you,” said the old 
man, “ whether the picture is long in this 
house, and whether you are long in pos- 
session of the house, or have lately pur- 
chased either it or the picture ?” 

“ Both the picture and the house,” said 
Vollmar, “have come down to me from 
my grandfather. But why all these ques- 
tions, my dear old friend ?” 

“ I must ask you another still, before I 
can explain,” he replied. “ Pray tell me 
whether your grandfather died in this 
house, or fled during the war, without 
being ever able to return home ?” 

“My grandfather,” said Vollmar, “died 
far away in a foreign land. But I am 


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amazed ai the obiect of all these ques 
tions.” 

“ Was your grandmother still alive, and 
was she present at his death ?” asked the 
old man again. 

“No,” replied Vollmar, “she died long 
before. But I must still say your questions 
surprise me.” 

“ Perhaps your father was present at 
your grandfather’s death-bed ?” continued 
the old man. “ Did he never tell you that 
his father communicated an important 
secret to him before his death?” 

“ Your extraordinary inquiries puzzle 
me more and more,” replied the mer- 
chant. “My grandfather died of a vio- 
lent fever, which deprived him of his 
senses. My father, who was then a boy, 
was summoned to his death-bed, but he 
found him a corpse.” 

“ One other question,” said the old man 

46 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


* Did your grandfather leave a gieat for 
tune behind him? Was your father a 
rich man?” 

“My father,” said Vollmar, “when he 
returned to his native city, was, I may 
say, a poor man ; it was with difficulty he 
succeeded in reopening and re-establish- 
ing his business, which had been ruined 
by the war.” 

The old man looked very earnestly at 
Mr. Vollmar. “ You are extremely like 
your grandfather,” said he ; “ it frequently 
happens that the grandson is more so than 
the son. At the time of which I speak, 
he was about your present age, and when 
I look at you I can almost fancy it is the 
same individual I see before me. Listen, 
I pray you, to my history; I may, per- 
haps, be able to render you a service. 

“A short time before the city was be* 
fieged and pillage!, I was engaged here 

47 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ft worKing mason ; one night an old clerk 
came to my master, and requested him to 
go with him, in order to assist his master 
in concealing his most valuable effects. 
My master, however, was sick and could 
not go, but proposed me as his substitute, 
offering to guarantee my honesty and 
trustworthiness with his own life and 
property. Accordingly, I accompanied 
the old servant. It was a dark and ter- 
rific night, the rain and storm -were really 
awful. Without being told either the 
name of the house or of the proprietor, I 
was led through a large hall into an office. 
Your grandfather, for I cannot doubt that 
it was he, seemed somewhat surprised 
that my master had sent him so young a 
man. He was silent for a while, but 
when the clerk reported the master’s 
words, the merchant ordered him to light 
two tapers in addition to the lamp which 

48 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

Stood upon the desk, and to place them on 
the table, above which this picture hung, 
and required me to swear never to di- 
vulge to mortal man a word of the mvs- 
tery he was going to confide to me, ex- 
cept, possibly, to the rightful heir. He 
dictated the oath for me, and I, with up- 
lifted right hand, repeated the words after 
him ; standing at the time in front of the 
picture. 

“ He then conducted me from the office 
through a series of vaulted and well-stored 
warerooms ; the clerk attended us all the 
while. By a strait stone stairway, which 
led under- ground, we reached a narrow 
little passage, from which we came to 
caverns excavated in the rock, in which 
a number of large vessels lay. At last, 
the clerk opened another door, which was 
provided with strong locks, and we en- 
tered a little vault formed of large square 

5 49 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


atones ; it was here the rich merchant 
had kept his choicest wines, but now the 
casks were removed on one side, and two 
chests, one large and the other small, with 
a quantity of silver-plate, lay along the 
wall. 

“ The merchant pointed to a square 
stone in the wall, no larger than the rest, 
and about a foot from the ground. ‘ This 
stone,’ said he, * conceals the entrance to a 
secret recess, in which I mean to conceal 
my effects. The stone is only about a 
span thick, and cannot be removed with- 
out great trouble, and it is for the purpose 
of taking it out and replacing it that your 
services are required.’ The necessary 
iron tools were in readiness, and a bucket 
with mortar stood at hand : for the prudeni 
gentleman had, the day before, employed 
two other masons to repair the wall of the 
court-yard, and had got his trusty old 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


clerk to bring away, privately, as much of 
the mortar as was necessary for his ulte- 
rior purpose. I succeeded in taking out 
the stone without injury ; it required no 
little skill and care, but I succeeded ; and 
on creeping in through the opening, I 
found a tolerably roomy vault within. 
The merchant and his clerk, with my as- 
sistance from the inside, shoved in the 
large chest, which was of oak, and the 
smaller one, which was of iron — they were 
very heavy. We next stowed away the 
plate, and I then replaced the stone in the 
wall, and closed the joints so well with 
mortar, that they could not be distin- 
guished from those between the rest of the 
stones. The gentleman then pressed a 
gold piece into my hand, put his finger 
upon his lips, and said : ‘ Remember your 
oath !’ I thanked him joyfully, and again 
iolemnly assured him that the secret with 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


which 1 had been trusted should never 
pass my lips. 

“ Soon after, the enemy arrived before 
the city; all building was discontinued, 
and all the foreign mechanics were dis- 
missed. I set out on my journeying, trav- 
elled in every direction, and at last mar- 
ried the daughter of a master-builder, 
about fifty miles from this city ; I never 
came here again, and it is now many 
years since I even thought of the buried 
treasures. At that time, during the war, 
there were many similar transactions at 
which my assistance was required ; and it 
was only this moment that the sight of 
this beautiful picture of our Divine Re- 
deemer recalled the recollection of this old 
story of the buried treasure. 

“Dearest, kindest Mr. Vollmar, ,, con- 
cluded the old man, “ I think it is a plain 
intervention of Providence that brought 


THU BEST INHERITANCE. 


Or here ; God moved your heart charitably 
*o take into your house a poor old blind 
stranger; He opened my eyes that I 
might see this beautiful picture, and re- 
veal to you your hidden inheritance — He 
will reward your benevolence. The same 
exquisite picture, which has hitherto, as 
often as you looked upon it, filled your 
heart and those of your dear family, with 
admiration and delight, is now to be the 
means, under Heaven, of bringing a tern 
poral blessing also to your house.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TREASURE. 

Mr. Vollmar had listened with great 
mention to the narrative of the venerable 
Did man. “You may be right, my good 

5 * 53 


THE IiES'I INHERITANCE. 


old friend; ” said he; “it has always been 
conjectured that my grandfather musx 
have concealed a considerable treasure 
somewhere or other. He had prudently 
foreseen that the war would completely 
ruin trade, and had, therefore, gradually 
narrowed the extended range of his com- 
merce; and, apparently, either transferred 
elsewhere his immense capital, or buried it 
in the earth, together with all his valuable 
effects. Bet where, neither 1 nor my fa- 
ther could find the smallest trace ; how- 
ever, the description which you give of the 
strait stone stairway, of the narrow pas- 
sage and the subterraneous vault, tallies 
exactly, and I am quite convinced that my 
grandfather did conceal his best treasures 
behind that stone. But I much doubt 
whether they will be found there now. 
The enemy who pillaged our city and ran- 
sacked all the vaults, cellars, and even 

54 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


tombs, displaying extraordinary sagacity 
in discovering concealed treasure, must, ir. 
all probability, have discovered this also. 
It is possible, too, that my grandfather 
may have trusted his secret to some sup- 
posed friend, who may have played him 
false and privately appropriated this treas- 
ure; still the thing is worth trying, and 
we shall examine it as soon as possible.’ 1 

“We can do so on the spot,” replied 
the mason. “ Lead me there at once. 1 
would know at a glance whether the 
stone has been moved or not, and thus 
could tell what is the fate of the treasure.” 

“ No,” said Vollmar, “ not yet, it might 
injure your eyes.” 

“ Oh !” replied the mason, “ the twilight 
of these dim cellars will not dazzle my 
eyes in the least, and therefore cannot do 
them any harm.” 

“Well, then,” said Vollmar, “come 

55 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


with me; I should have desired, at any 
rate, to bring you, as an experienced 
builder, to see one of these vaults which 
has sustained a great shake, to which my 
people have several times anxiously called 
mv attention. We shall assign this as the 
reason of our visit, and keep the other pri- 
vate for some time yet. ' 

They went arm and arm. When the 
old man came to the innermost vault he 
said, “ Yes, this is it, I still recollect this 
little round loophole, with strong iron 
grating. We had to cover it then with 
a thick hair packing-cloth, lest the light 
should pass out and betray us at our noc- 
turnal enterprise. The well-known stone 
is directly opposite this little window.” 

Mr. Yollmar pushed somewhat asunder 
two of the casks which lay against the 
wall. The old man squeezed himself with 
lome difficulty between them. 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


“ Victory!” he cried. “The stone is 
untouched — I know my work still — the 
treasure is there yet. Praise and thanks 
be to God !” 

“Yes, thanks be to God!” cried Voll- 
mar ; “ he knows that my heart is not 
fixed on gold or wealth ; but in my pres- 
ent position this discovery is a real and 
well-timed favor of God. I will have 
these casks taken out to-day, and crow- 
bars and other necessary tools brought in. 
My servant Paul will help us ; he is still a 
young man, as were you at that time, but 
he is as true and as upright as yourself. 
Come back with me now ; to-night we 
shall set about our work, which, however, 
as I said, must still remain a secret.” 

When it was dark, Vollmar and nis 
wife, the old man, and the servant Paul, 
repaired to the vault. Vollmar had had 
the little round window covered, during 

57 


'THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


(lie evening, with a carpet: the casks wer* 
shoved aside, and tiie tools were lead} 
The old mason wanted to set to the work, 
but Vollmar said to him: “You must spare 
yourself as yet; I will try what I can do 
at your craft, though I have never learnt 
it, and I shall only ask your advice.” The 
active Paml relieved his master occasion- 
ally at the work ; at length the stone was 
loose, and Paul and his master removed 
it. Paul crept in with a lighted taper, and 
saw first the collection of plate, which was 
all green and mouldy. He handed out 
or\e piece after another — a silver epergne, 
massive silver lamps, goblets, cups, plates, 
saltcellars, spoons, and forks. Mrs. Voll- 
mar took them from him with trembling 
hands, and wondered at their strange old- 
fashioned form. Paul next shoved out 
the little iron chest, which Mr. Vollmar 
took charge of; and at last he set to the 

58 


TI1E BEST INHERITANCE. 


great oak chest, which was so heavy tnat 
it was only with the aid of a crowbar he 
could push it to the mouth of the passage. 
Vollmar and the old man, who, consider- 
ing his age, was still very powerful, drew 
it entirely out, Paul assisting them from 
behind with all his might. 

As the key was not to be had Volk 
mar was obliged to employ the crowbar 
to open the chests. In the upper part of 
the oaken one they found some finer pie- 
ces of plate, of more exquisite workman- 
ship, washed with gold. Beneath were a 
number of little leathern bags, marked with 
ciphers, and, judging by their weight, full 
of gold. Mr. Vollmar opened one of 
them: it contained nothing but gold pie 
ces of a very old coinage, but as beautiful 
and bright as if they had just been coined. 
Far below were heavy bags full of dollars, 
which, however, had almost all turned 

59 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


green. The little iron chest contained, in 
cases of various forms and sizes, all sorts 
of costly jewels, but especially ladies 
trinkets of gold, richly set with diamonds. 
Mrs. Vollmar was almost more delighted 
with these than with the gold and silver 
coins. At the bottom of the little chest 
were found two leaden cases, smeared 
with water-proof cement, to secure them 
from damp. “ They are very light,” said 
Mr. Vollmar, and probably contain noth- 
ing but family papers, which, however, 
will doubtless be of great value to me.” 

He then ordered Paul to carry the 
heavy money-bags up to his blue tape- 
stried cabinet, in order to lighten the 
chests. As soon as Paul, who was very 
active in his own way, had done this, Mr. 
Vollmar said to him: “Now you must 
help me to carry up the large chest ; and 
you, Teresa,” said he to his wife, “ will 

GO 


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be able, and I doubt not ready, to carry 
up, with the assistance o r our old friend, 
the little casket with the jewels, which 
you prize so highly. We shall leave the 
rest ot the plate here for the present, 
taking care to lock the vault cautiously.” 

He locked it, and they all went up to 
the blue cabinet. The old mason and 
Paul went to bed in high spirits, for they 
both took a lively interest in Mr. Voli- 
mar’s fortune, and he had besides prom- 
ised them a considerable reward ; but the 
merchant and his wife sat up almost till 
daybreak. 

Mrs. .Vollmar examined the trinkets. 
She cleaned the diamonds with chamois 
leather “See, Frederic,” said she, “with 
what brilliancy and fire these diamonds 
still sparkle, after so long a time! I am 
delighted with them ; but the massive old- 

fashioned setting, stirs up in me a melan- 
6 61 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

choly feeling of the transitoriness of life. 
Your grandmother must have worn these 
jewels in times long gone by ! But what 
have we here, wrapped in oiled paper, 



and sealed up with wax? Oh, see,” cried 
she, “ this little portrait, set in crystal and 
gold, is the likeness of your grandmother, 
Barbara Vollmar. It was painted while 
she was yet a bride — so the inscription on 
the. back testifies. At that time she was 


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but eighteen years old. How lovely, fresh, 
and blooming she looks! — not so serious 
as in the full-length portrait in the parlor, 
where she appears as a venerable matron. 
But who is this ? It is your grandfather, 
Lucas Vollmar. At that time he was al- 
most a mere youth. How fiery and ani- 
mated his eyes!— how blooming his cheeks! 
and how rich the locks which adorn his 
head ! These parted locks,” said she, smi 
ling, “ are surely prettier than the old 
French peruke which he wears in the 
great picture !” 

“Is it not well,” replied Vollmar, “that 
our spirit is more enduring than the flesh 
which embodies it, and which withers 
away like the flower of the field? Our 
soul is more lasting than gold or dia- 
monds ; at the end of the world they will 
melt away in the fire ; but God created 
our soul immortal. To Him be honor, 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


praise, glory, and gratitude, forever and 

ever!” 


CHAPTER V. 

IMPORTANT FAMILY PAPERS. 

While Mrs. Vollmar was engaged with 
the jewels, her husband was turning over 
the time-stained documents which he 
found in the cases. They contained many 
family papers, which interested him ex- 
tremely, and showed him that his grand- 
father had been in correspondence with 
the most distinguished men of those times. 

“ This document,” said he, at last, to 
his wife, as he unrolled a paper, “this 
document is the most important of them 
all : it contains an account of the treasure, 
and is entirely in the han-d of my grand- 
father, who has inscribed it ‘my last will 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


and testament.’ Let us hear what h-i 
writes/’ He read the document exactly 
as it stood in the original : — 

“In the name of the most Holy Trinity: 

“I, Lucas Vollmar, citizen and mer* 
chant, and member of the grand council, 
do hereby declare as follows : 

“ Whereas, in these precarious times, 
our good city is not secure for a single 
day from falling into the hands of the ene- 
my, and being pillaged, or even burned 
and razed to the ground, I have deemed 
it advisable to build up and conceal in a 
fire-and-shell-proof vault, under my house, 
all my most valuable property, both money 
and effects. 

“ And whereas, in consequence of this 
great peril, even to my life, it is no longer 
safe for me to remain here, the enemy be- 
ing especially embittered against me, and 
having, as 1 have well ascertained, made 

6 * 65 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 


no secret that they have vowed m) death, 
because I thought it my duty to God and 
father-land to support the good cause, by 
providing from my own resources, men. 
ammunition, and equipments : And where- 
as, even within the city a hostile party has 
grown up, who threaten to gain the upper 
hand, and will no longer tolerate my pres- 
ence here ; I feel myself necessitated to 
turn my back on our beloved native city, 
and to betake myself to a sorrowful flight. 

“ And whereas, moreover, it is most 
probable that I shall not survive this fear- 
ful war, which has already lasted fifteen 
years, and that my only son, Hugh, the 
partner of my flight, who is still a tender 

child, shall not be able to return to his na- 

€ 

live city till the end of the war and the 
re-establishment of peace, which may, 
perhaps, be many years hence: And 
whereas, this deserted florae may mean- 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


while fall into strange hands ; I therefore 
deposite along with this inheritance in gold 
and effects, which I bequeath to my son 
and place in security for him in this vault, 
the present signed and sealed instrument, 
in order that upon his return he may be 
enabled, without let or hinderance, to claim 
and take possession of this, his rightful in 
heritance. 

“ And reflecting further, that it is possi- 
ble some fatality may befall me during this, 
my distressing flight, and that God in His 
unfathomable and inscrutable designs may 
call me out of life during the minority ol 
my beloved son, Hugh ; that I cannot pru- 
dently intrust to an almost infant child the 
secret of this hidden treasure — that I have 
no other relative, and do not know any 
one to whom 1 can commit it — that I can- 
not hope to find in a foreign land such a 
person — (since, in the present state of 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


tilings, one who is a friend to-day may oe 
an enemy to-morrow :) and that my old 
servant, Nicholas, who is alone cognizant 
of the secret, and whom I leave in charge 
of my house, is already eighty years old, 
and may soon die — and that, lastly, it may 
easily happen that in those troubled times, 
my dear child, notwithstanding the inherit- 
ance reserved, but unknown to him, may 
perish in poverty and wretchedness in a 
distant land, and that the treasure maj 
escape notice till long years hence, and 
then fall into strange hands: — in such 
case, I hereby explicitly declare it as mv 
sacred and solemn testament, that the 
whole treasure be divided into three equal 
parts, one of which shall go to the finder, 
one to the hospital, and the third to the 
church and schools of my native city. 
And I charge it on the future finder, by 

his conscience, his soul, and his hopes o! 

68 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


happiness, that he suppress not, or conceal, 
or in any way deal fraudulently with, this 
my property, but make true discovery 
thereof to the magistrates, and that he re- 
member that in the world to come, we 
shall have to render an account for every 
unjustly acquired farthing, and that, there- 
fore, to conceal this treasure would be to 
purchase therewith remorse in this world, 
and dreadful punishments in the next. 
And let the worshipful magistrates, burgo- 
masters, and councillors of our city value 
and appraise all according to the discovery 
made unto them, and carry my testament 
into effect, according to the distribution 
aforesaid. 

“ Yet as I hope in God that lie will 
continue to my aforesaid son and heir, and 
to his descendants, my grandchildren and 
great-grandchildren, the rich blessing which 
He has vouchsafed to myself, therefore I 

69 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

add for their behoof this paternal admoni- 
tion. 

“ My dear son Hugh, and you my be- 
loved grandchildren, let not this bequest 
of mine betray you into indolence, luxury, 
extravagance, or idle pomp : be not like 
the rich glutton in the gospel, else the 
blessing will turn to a curse in your re- 
gard. Be ever industrious, frugal, tem- 
perate, charitable, and benevolent to the 
poor. Forget not that God hath but ap- 
pointed the rich to be his stewards, and 
administrators of the wealth intrusted to 
them, and that we must render an account 
before his judgment-seat of the manner in 
which we have employed and disposed of 
it for the good of our fellow-men, the 
charitable support of the poor, and the 
advancement of the common weal. Thus 
will the temporal blessing prove a source 
also of eternal happiness. 

70 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 


“ My son, hearken to this word of thy 
oving father, and impress it also on the 
children with whom God may hereafter 
bless thee ; I leave thee my blessing ; and 
jrou, too, my future grandchildren, whose 
faces I shall never see — blessings on ye 
all! In momentary peril of death do 1 
write this scroll. Be it to you as my 
dying testament. And now I commit you 
and all my posterity to the protection of 
God. . May He guard you from all evil, 
from sin and crime ; may He deign to 
preserve you in virtue, and graciously to 
guide you that ye live lives not unworthy 
of your forefathers, God-fearing, virtuous, 
and honorable Christians. When you, 
my beloved descendants, shall read this 
scroll, which I have written not without 
copious tears, my bones and those of your 
poor grandmother will have been long re- 
posing m the churchyard. Reflect that 

71 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

you, too, must die, and live so that we 
may all meet in the hope of a joyous 
resurrection in that heaven to which I 
too, look forward, after this miserable life ! 
Amen 1 

“Lucas Vollmar.” 

Written on the night of 
January 15 th, 1633. 

While Mr. Vollmar was reading this 
document, his wife sat with folded hands, 
listening as piously as though she had been 
at church, and the tears trickled fast down 
her cheeks. “ Your grandfather, Lucas,” 
said she, “ was a trulv pious, good, honest 
man. His address to his son Hugh, to 
you, dearest Frederic, and to myself and 
our children, makes a deep impression on 
my heart. May God receive and reward 
him, in heaven above, for his Christian 
sentiments, and his love and forethought 
tor us and our children !” 


72 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


“God grant it,” said her husband ; “and 
‘et us follow faithfully the advice of our 
good, venerable grandsire. God has wise- 
ly ordained that we should be the parties 
to find the treasure. He has kept it faith- 
fully for us till this hour, when we most 
stand in need of assistance. It was for- 
tunate and providential that my grand- 
father was not able to tell my father 
where it was that he buried his treasure 
during the war. It is true, that thus my 
father was severely tried during his youth; 
he suffered much as a poor orphan in the 
midst of strangers : he had to sit early 
and late at his desk; and when he re- 
turned hither at the end of the war, it cost 
him incredible trouble to re-establish and 
resume his business ; but he was thus in- 
duced to inure me also to industry and 
labor, and to make me master of all the 
Knowledge which is necessary for a mer 

1 73 


THE BEST IN HE.R/TANCE. 


chant. Had I come sooner into the pos- 
session of all this money and property, it 
would perhaps have turned my head : I 
might have fixed my heart upon these per- 
ishable riches and given myself up to 
indolence and dissipation. Experience 
teaches that great riches seldom reach a 
third generation ; it is a proverb that the 
‘ grandfather gathers ; the son scatters ; 
and the grandson starves;’ and it is too 
often the case. We must therefore ad- 
here to our wanted simple, laborious, and 
frugal habits of life, and accustom our, 
children to the same ; but above ail we 
must train them, as heretofore, in the fear 
of God. Riches without the fear of God 
is a dangerous gift, and has been the ruin, 
both in body and soul, of many an un- 
happy victim, A good education is the 
best fortune we can leave to our children. 
Wealth is a very uncertain property : but 

74 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


true piety and solid virtue are beyond aL 
price ; they have a stamp which is not 
only valuable in this world, but retains its 
value for all eternity.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE PARTING FEAST. 

Mr. Vollmar slept but a few hours, 
and then repaired to the chamber of the 
old mason, whose honesty and prudence 
had quite won upon his affections. “My 
good old friend,” said he, “I am greatly 
indebted to you ; to you I owe my grand- 
father’s inheritance.” 

“ Oh, no, no,” replied the old man. “ It 
is I who am indebted to you. You have 
been the means of restoring my eyesight 
to me. You took me. an aged, blind 

75 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


stranger, into your house; you called in 
the oculist to me, and promised him a rich 
reward if he should restore my sight; you 
have taken the most tender care of mysed 
and my grandchild. For the rest of my 
life, which I now feel is on the decline, 1 
shall never be able to thank you suffi- 
ciently. But let us both return thanks to 
God ! It was He — I can never repeat it 
too often — it was He that moved youi 
heart to take me into your house ; it was 
He that opened my eyes to see the beauti- 
ful picture and to discover the hidden 
treasure for you.” 

“You are right,” said Mr. Vollmar, 
“ we both have reason to thank God ; but 
that does not release me from my obliga- 
tion to you. Take up your abode, good 
old father, henceforth in my house ; I, my 
wife, and my children will regard you as 
our grandsire. and will, in the words of the 

76 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


popular phrase, strew your path with 
flowers.” 

“ O, no, no,” said the old man, “ I honot 
and love you and yours from my soul, but 
still I pine to return to my poor little hut ; 
my son and daughter-in-law are counting 
the days till they see me ; and, oh ! how 
my heart yearns to see my younger grand- 
children, whose faces I have never yet 
beheld. They all, children, and children’s 
children, will exult to see me once again, 
now that I am restored to sight. Let me 
then go in peace; poor, worn out, old 
man that I am, 1 am no longer worth any 
thing in this world. These rooms are all 
too large for me — too long, too high, and 
too wide — I am not rightly at home in 
them, and I shall be far better in my own 
quiet little room ; there I shall devote the 
rest of my life to God, frequently visiting 
our little village church, and meditating 

7 * 77 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

on death and eternity, till I shall lie down 
to rest under the green turf in our little 
village graveyard.” 

“ Well, then,” said Vollmar, “ if you can 
not be happy otherwise, return in God’s 
name to your home ; but I will settle an 
annuity upon you, w r hich shall secure you 
from want. And as I perceive from your 
discourse that your son has not yet been 
able to discharge all the debts which he 
contracted when he commenced to keep 
house, and has but a small field and a little 
patch of meadow, I will myself pay his 
debts and purchase other fields and larger 
meadow-land for him ; and in every ne- 
cessity, both you and your son may always 
reckon on my assistance as far as monev 
can aid you. For the present, you must 
remain with us till your eyes are fully re- 
stored, and then I shall send vou home jd 
my own carriage.” 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

On the day before his taking leave, Voll 
mar told the old man that his wife had 
prepared a little farewell feast for that 
evening. “ You, your grandson, myself, 
and my children,” said he, “ will go out to 
my villa for a while, till it shall be time for 
supper.” 

They went ; it was a beautiful summei 
evening; not a cloud was upon the sky, 
and there was a gentle refreshing breeze 
“ Merciful Providence,” said the old man, 
when he entered the garden and looked 
around him, “a few weeks ago I stood 
here blind and in utter darkness, and could 
not see aught of all the splendor which 
heaven has created! Oh ! how fair is the 
evening sky : how glorious that declining 
sun, which turns all around to gold ! How 
charming are thf'se roses and all these oth- 
er flowers, nameless for me. Alas ! it is a 
true saying, ‘a blind man is a poor man;' 

79 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

those who see are rich, though they know 
not how to prize their riches.” 

Little Max shut his eyes. “Yes, n* 
deed,” said he, “ it is a sad thing to be 
blind, and to grope about this way in she 
dark. I would not give my eyes for all 
the gold, and silver, and jewels, which my 
father found in the cellar.” 

“ You are right,” said his father. “ But 
look out at all these green leaves, these 
roses, all the flowers of the garden, the 
ears of corn in the fields, and the blades of 
grass in the meadows. All these flowers, 
leaves, ears, and blades, every thing that 
we see, is painted within the little pupil of 
your eye. IIow amazingly — how infi- 
nitely miirute, fine, and delicate these pic- 
tures must be !” 

“ I never dreamed of that,” said Max, 
in astonishment. “ Stop, Aloysius, let me 
took into your eye: oh! 1 declare I see 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 

my own picture in it! O, how very small, 
fine, and delicate it is! The beautiful lit- 
tle miniature of our great-grandfather is 
not half so delicate — it is nothing to this.” 

Max had a little book in his hand ; he 
opened it and held it up. 

“ 1 can see the book too,” cried he, “ but 
l can’t read the letters ; the pages look to 
be all white.” 

“And yet,” said his father, “every let 
ter, and every point is painted in the eye. 
Whenever we look at a printed or writ- 
ten page, that moment the writing is 
painted in our eye !” 

“O, how very small the writing must 
be,” said Max : “ no man could write so 
small as that — I am astonished.” 

“ Well may we be astonished,” said his 

father. “ What wisdom and power — what 

godlike art is displayed in those pictures 

and letters which, without our conscious 

81 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ness — without colors or pencil, pen or ink 
— are thus accurately and clearly impress- 
ed upon our eyes ! Every rose, every lily 
is truly depicted — every letter is faithfully 
transcribed ! Equally wondrous, yea. still 
more wondrous is it, that those objects 
which are painted so very minute in our 
eyes, appear to us, notwithstanding, so 
large. How minute is the picture of the 
spire of our church yonder — the smallest 
needle is not so sharp and fine ! and yet 
we see the spire before us almost of im- 
mense size, with its antique decorations — 
its arabesque ornaments, and light win- 
dow-like open-work. ]f we only consider 
aright the human eye — this miracle of the 
Divine Omnipotence — we should fall upon 
our knees, and, in the dust, adore the Al- 
mighty Creator !” 

He looked reverently to heaven, and 
the old man and the three children were 
82 


THE BEST INHERITANCE 


filled with an adoring consciousness of the 
omnipotence and wisdom of God. 

When the sun had set, Mr. Vollmar and 
his little party returned to the city. His 
wife, meanwhile, had prepared the supper- 
table in the little apartment in which the 
Ecce Homo hung, and had laid ft out with 
ail the newly-found antique plate, which 
had been cleaned by a silversmith. Four 
wax-lights were burning in silver candle- 
sticks, and the silver plate upon the snow- 
white coverjet, shone and sparkled as 
bright and beautiful as if it were just new 
from the shop. 

“ Does not this silver look very dif- 
ferent now ?” said Max to his little sister, 
laughing heartily at her. “ When you 
first saw it, you remember you said you 
would not for the world drink out of those 
green cups.” 

His father called for silence ; and Fai* 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


ny, whose turn it was that evening, said 
grace, and they sat down ; the old man, 
in whose honor the feast was given, be- 
tween Mr. and Mrs. Vollmar, and Aloy- 
sius between Max and Fanny. During 
supper hardly a word was spoken except 
about the occurrences which had taken 
place since the evening when Mr. Voll- 
mar first saw the old man and his grand- 
son out of the summer-house window. 

“ It was a lucky chance fo^ me,” said 
the old man, “or rather a merciful ar- 
rangement of God, that Mr. Vollmar saw 
me sitting yonder, and heard my conver- 
sation with my grandson. 

“ Yes, worthiest of men,” he continued, 
“ I cannot repeat it often enough. It was 
God who moved your heart to take pity, 
though yourself in the greatest embarrass- 
ment, on my distress, and to receive me 
•o kindly into your house. Ah, as I then 

84 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


sat upon that spot, blind and enveloped in 
darkness, within my soul still deeper dark- 
ness dwelt. How my heart trembled for 
my prospects, old and strange as I was in 
the great populous city ! How happy am 
I now, that I have got back both my eyes, 
just as good as new ! Blind and poor 
came I hither : I return seeing and laden 
with gifts ! What joy shall I bring to my 
home, where my son, his wife and chil- 
dren, will be raised up from care and 
relieved from distress ! Oh, I am un- 
worthy of all the mercy my God has 
shown me !” 

“And to us too,” said Mrs. Vollmar, 
“ He has been equally gracious and merci- 
ful. We were in imminent danger, not 
only of losing our town-house and oui 
villa, but of being reduced to a very poo* 
condition, and exposed besides to an in 
finity of neglect and scorn. God ha 

8 85 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


used you, dear old father, as an angel, to 
show us where assistance lay ready pro 
pared for us. Ah, even at the very time 
when our grandfather, by your hands, 
placed this treasure in that secret vault, 
our good God had preordained this great 
mercy to us both ! He foresaw this very 
hour, in which we all sit here rejoicing 
and praising his goodness. He gave his 
blessing to the treasure which our grand- 
father laid up for us !” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Max ; “ the rich treas- 
ure, which our grandfather left for us, is a 
princely inheritance.” 

“ My dear Max,” said his father, “ 1 
know an inheritance, which has come 
down to us from our ancestors, still better 
than this.” 

“A greater treasure than all the gold 
and silver?” said Max, in amazement. 

“ And than the beautiful sparkling jew 
86 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


els,” said Fanny, “ which are worth moit 
than a heap of gold and silver?” 

“All the gold and silver, and all the 
jewels in the world, are nothing compared 
with the treasure that I mean,” said their 
father. 

“ And do you know where this treasure 
is hidden ?” said Max. 

'* ft is n&t a hidden treasure at all,” re- 
plied his father. “ Every one that is not 
entirely devoid of feeling can find it.” 

“ Oh ! I know now what my father 
means,” said Max. “It is the beautiful 
Ecce Homo. My mother often said there 
was a special blessing on it. And had my 
father sold it the time the Englishman of- 
fered so much money for.it, we should 
never have found the treasure which was 
hidden in our house.” 

“ Neither is it the beautiful picture that 
I mean,” returned his father, “ though it is 

97 



' ' ' 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


of great value, both on account of the 
painter’s skill,, and, still more, of Him 
whom it represents. The best inher- 
itance, which your ancestors inherited 
from their own and transmitted to us, and 
which I hope will be your inheritance too, 
is — Fear of God, piety, virtue, and in- 
tegrity. It was of this that the Lord 
Christ himself said, when Mary, the sister 
of Martha, sat at his feet, solely intent on 
hearing and keeping his word, ‘ One thing 
is necessary. Mary hath chosen the bet- 
ter part, which shall not be taken away 
from her/ 

“What could all the treasures in the 
world avail us, if w r e were ungodly, frivo- 
lous, and uncharitable, without any better 
object than to enjoy the happiness of this 
life? These treasures would in that case 
only maxe us still more wicked and more 

unhappy. Little would it avail us merely 
88 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


tc have in our house that noble picture 
of our Redeemer, beautifully as it is ex- 
ecuted, were we not animated by love 
and gratitude to the Divine Original — 
were we not reminded thereby of His 
love for His heavenly Father, and for 
us men ; could we look with cold hearts 
upon this crown of thorns — the wounds 
upon his sacred face — the mark of the 
buffets — the streaming blood-drops — his 
trustful look towards heaven ; were we 
not moved thereby to obedience to our 
heavenly Father, to generous and self-de- 
voting philanthropy, to patience and resig- 
nation in sufferings, and to horror of sin, 
the cause of all his sufferings. O. r pious 
forefathers decorated their apartments 
with such pictures as these, not alone to 
admire in them the skill of the artist, (which 
is even still admired and dearly purchas- 
ed,) but for the sake of Him whom ii 

8* 8U 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


represents. Christianity was their most 
precious pearl ; their pious Christian spirit 
displayed itself in their entire life — even in 
their very domestic arrangements. Look, 
for example, at these antique goblets, 
which were found among the family plate. 
This old silver tankard, chased with gold, 
which your mother has set before our old 
friend Christian, is the oldest heirloom of 
our family. It was presented by his chil- 
dren and grandchildren, on the occasion 
of his fifty-years jubilee, to my great- 
grandfather, Albert Vollmar, who had 
been above fifty years a citizen -and mer- 
chant here. Look here, on this exqui- 
sitely-ca' ^ed gold medallion is represented 
the venerable Simeon with the child Je- 
sus. The name of Lucas Vollmar and 

f 

his wife, and the date of the month and 
year, are beautifully engraved round about, 
for, in tnose days, fear of God and respect 

90 


TIiE BEST INHERITANCE. 


for parents went hand in hand. My gob 
' let and your mother’s were marriage pres* 
ents to my grandfather and grandmother. 
Upon mine are represented the first mar- 
ried pair in paradise ; on your mother’s is 
the marriage of Cana, and round about are 
engraved the names, the day and the year 
for the good people of those times were 
wont to unite the sacred history with their 
own, and thus endeavored to sanctify theii 
domestic life, and to convert their family 
festivities into true Christian festivals. 

“These three little cups, my children, 
out of which you are drinking, are Christ- 
mas presents. Your little cup, Fanny, 
was presented to my grandmother by her 
godfather ; yours, Max, was given to mv 
grandfather’s parents for him on the day 
of. his baptism, as is engraved in full on 
them both : and the beautiful little cup 
that Aloysius has before him was a Christ 

91 


THE BEST INKER TANCE. 


mas present to my grandfather’s sister 
Her name, Mary Vollmar, and the day of 
her birth, encircled by roses and lilies, are 
engraved upon the cup. She grew up a 
maiden of extraordinary beauty, and no 
less eminent piety and virtue. But she 
died a bride, in the very flower of her 
beauty ; and her afflicted parents had the 
day of her death engraved upon the other 
side of the cup, and underneath it are the 
words of Holy Writ: ‘All flesh is grass, 
and all the glory thereof is as the flower 
of the grass. The grass withereth and the 
flower falleth away ; the world passeth 
with its pleasure, but he who doth the will 
of God liveth forever!’ Oh, how affect- 
ing is it to think thus of our forefathers! 
Shall we not honor their memory, and 
walk in their footsteps, never departing 
from their simple habit of life ? In god 

92 


THE BEST INTERITANCE. 


liness and virtue alone is happiness to b# 
found. 

“ But it is time,” concluded Vollmar, 
“ to drink the health of our dear guest, 
who, as he once concealed these goblets, 
has now again restored them to the light 
of day, with their fine old inscriptions 
which awaken such precious recollections 
in our souls. May he long himself en- 
joy the light of day, and be happy in 
the society of his children and grand- 
children !” 

The venerable old man was deeply af 
fected : the tears stood in his gray eye- 
lashes, and rolled down his time-worn 
cheeks. 

“ Long live my best benefactors, Mi . 
and Mrs. Vollmar!” he said; “God will 
reward them for what they have done for 
me, and wifi give a plentiful blessing to 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


their children, both for time and for eter- 
nity.” 

He drank, and paused for a while. “ j 
acknowledge it as a great blessing from 
God,” said he, “ to have been restored to 
the use of my eyesight ; but I hold it a 
far greater benefit that he has introduced 
me to such a truly Christian family, where 
I hear so much that is good, and where 
my faith is animated anew. The light of 
the soul is more precious than the cor- 
poral light which we enjoy in common 
with the beasts. A living faith in God is 
the light of the soul. Let us therefore 
prize, even more than the light of our 
eyes, faith in God, Christ, virtue, and eter- 
nal life; let us follow its guidance, and 
guard it more carefully than our sight it- 
self Let us lay up for ourselves a treas- 
ure in heaven which is beyond all the 

94 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


measures of earth. Let Godliness, Vir- 
tue, and Integrity, be the Best Inher- 
itance which we shall leave behind for 
oui children.” 

On the following morning, after morn- 
ing prayer and breakfast were concluded, 
the carriage was prepared and brought to 
the door. It was well-packed ; for Mrs. 
Vollmar had stored it with all sorts of 
presents for the old man and his children 
and grandchildren. He took leave of 
them with tears in his eyes, and Aloysius 
kissed their hands and bade the children 
farewell ; and they all accompanied the 
deeply-affected old man and the sobbing 
boy to the carriage. 

“ May God repay you for all !” said he 
once more, “ and may He ever abide with 
you. May we all live in faith in Christ, 
and may we die like Simeon, prepared tc 

95 


THE BEST INHERITANCE. 


say, ‘ Now dost Thou dismiss thy servant 
O Lord, according to Thy word, in peace 
because my eyes have seen Thy salvation 
which Thou hast prepared before the fao< 
of all people !’ ” 









* 






> 








. 
























. • 






















* 























“ Clara rose early and spent a full hour before 
the looking-glass " — Page 











ROM her tender- 
est infancy, Cla- 
ra was a lovely and 
promising child. Her 
mother was a pioos 
woman, and her fa- 
ther, who was one of 
the king’s huntsmen, had a high character 
for intelligence and integrity- The hunt- 
ing lodge, where they lived, lay in a 


CLARA; OR, THE 


lonely wooded valley, from which, at the 
distance of about two miles, the spire of 
the village-church was seen rising be- 
tween two pine-clad hills. The father 
could not spend much of his time at 
home, as the extent of the forest in- 
trusted to his care kept him busily en- 
gaged during the greater part of the day. 
The great charm of the mother’s lonely 
hours, was the society of her beloved 
child ; whose infant smiles, and innocent 
lispings, spoke plainly enough for a moth- 
er’s heart. The first thoughts and feel- 
ings which littie Clara expressed were, to 
the fond soul of her parent, like the blush- 
ing streaks of the morning that usher in 
a brilliant day. 

From her very childhood, Clara was 
passionately fond of flowers. When she 
was about four years old, her greatest de- 
light was to ramble over a neighboring 


KED AND WHITE ROSES. 


meadow, and gather the wild floweis, 
which she brought in handfuls to her 
mother. The mother therefore resolved 
lo plant flowers in the garden near her 
house, and in the centre of the garden 
she planted a rose-tree. 

Little Clara could never tire admiring 
the primrose and the auricula, the tulips 
and narcissus; but when the rose-tree 
was in full blow, her joy knew no bounds. 
“Oh!” she would cry, “what a beautiful 
red — how sweetly it smells ! The rose is 
certainly the most beautiful of flowers. 
How kind is our good God, who has 
given us such beautiful flowers!” 

Her father, who was an excellent sur- 
veyor, had been ordered to survey a dis- 
tant forest, where he was detained many 
weeks. Clara would often say, “ Oh, how 
delighted he will be when he comes home 
and sees our beautiful flowers !” As the 


9 


CLARA; OR, THE 


poor child had never before seen a rose, 
she thought he also had never seen one, 
and was quite impatient for his return. 

When, at length, he appeared in the 
valley, Clara ran to the garden, and 
plucking a full-blown rose, together with 
some half-opened clustering buds, ran to 
meet him, her little face beaming with 




RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


fOy as she embraced him, and gave him 
her beautiful flowers. 

The happy father gazed now on little 
Clara, and then on her flowers. His child 
appeared to him now, after his absence of 
a few weeks, more lovely than ever, and 
in the joy of his heart he exclaimed, “My 
child, you are like the rose! you are my 
lovely rose-bud !” 

Clara smiled : the innocent child not 
knowing that she was beautiful, could not 
understand how she was like the rose. 
“ You are jesting, my dear father/’ said 
she, “how can I be like the rose 2 I must 
look very strange then. The difference 
between a rose and a little girl is too 
plain.” 

Her mother, who came up at the mo- 
ment, said, “ My dear Clara, give us, by 
your good behavior, the same pleasure 
.hat the bright color and sweet smell of 

11 


CLARA; OK, TIIE 


(he rose gives you; and avoid obstinacy 
and disobedience, which would be more 
painful to us than the thorns of the rose 
were the other day to your own little 
fingers.” 

But little Clara never gave her parents 
any pain. Every day she grew fairer 
and more lovely, and every day she grew 
more virtuous and sensible.. With all her 
vivacity she obeyed her parents at their 
slightest word. Taking pleasure in every 
thing that was good, sweet-tempered, con- 
tented, and affectionate, she w is, in a 
word, a living and lovely picture of inno 
cence. 

is 


RED AND WHITE KOSfcJS. 


CHAPTER n. 

THE MOTHER’S GRAVE 

Clara had now passed her tenth year ; 
but towards the end of summer her kind 
mother visibly began to decline. Symp- 
toms of consumption appeared ; and when 
Autumn came, and the tinted leaves drop- 
ped to the earth, and the fields were 
stripped of their flowers, and the cold blast 
swept over the stubbles of the naked corn- 
fields, she took to her bed without any 
hope of ever recovering. She prepared 
herself, like a good Christian, for the great 
passage to eternity, and devoted her few 
remaining days to her beloved daughter, 
from whom she was soon to be separated, 
and whom she endeavored to admonish 
2 13 


CLARA; OR. THE 


to every virtue, and warn against every 
vice. 

“Oh, dearest Clara !” she used to say, 
“this world, through which you are to 
pass, is beset with perils. Many things 
that appear fair and lovely, are hollow and 
deceitful, and bring nothing but iemorse 
and affliction. Cling, therefore, close to 
God, walk always as if in His presence, 
and let your daily prayer be that He may 
keep you under His holy protection. Im- 
press the words of Jesus on your heart, 
‘ Blessed are the clean of heart.’ ‘ What 
doth it profit a man to gain the whole 
world, if he lose his own soul!’ Honor 
your father, follow his advice : beware, 
oh ! beware of flatterers — the serpent often 
lurks under flowers. I am soon going 
from you ; but my prayers shall be always 
yours before the throne of God.” 

One evening, when the affectionate mo- 

14 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


ther was very weak, she gazed once more 
on her beloved Clara, and said, “Oh, Cla- 
ra ! live always innocent and virtuous, 
preserve a pure soul, and God will be with 
you !” She stretched out her wasted arms 
to bless her child. The pale hue of death 
overspread her countenance. In a few 
moments she was dead. Clara, trembling 
and distracted, seized the cold hand of her 
mother, and burst into a flood of tears, as 
she hung over her pale features. The fa- 
ther and daughter attended the coffin to 
the churchyard of Eschenbach, the neigh- 
boring village, and bedewed the grave with 
their tears. 

Every Sunday, after divine service, they 

visited the grave. The father covered it 

with green turf, and had a simple black 

cross set at its head. “ But should we 

not plant our rose-tree here ?” said Clara, 

“Ah!” answered her father, c that rose- 

is 


CLARA; OR, THE 


tree was pi anted by herself — we must not 
stir it, — it is too dear a memorial of her. 
We must find another rose-tree for this 
beloved spot.” He did plant another rose- 
tree at the end of Autumn, with his own 
hands, in presence of his weeping Clara. 

Spring came. All nature revived. A 
brilliant green clothed the forest, and flow- 
ers decked the fields and gardens. Bui 
Spring had lost its charms for Clara — her 
mother was still fresh in her memory — and 
often did she go, sometimes alone, some- 
times with her father, to the grave whose 
verdant grass was now shaded by the clus- 
tering rose-bush. 

One day Clara visited the grave with 

her father, but how great was her surprise 

on seeing, what she had never seen or 

heard of before, white roses hanging in 

rich clusters from the tree ! She was so 

startled, that the ruddy glow fled from her 
16 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


cheeks, and she became pale as the loses 
themselves. “ What can this mean ?” she 
exclaimed, “ white roses — white rosebuds ! 
I feel as if I saw pale death in every bud ! 
Fresh and beautiful was my mother while 
she was in health, like the red rose , but 
pale and wan like these when she died ! I 
cannot look at them without trembling — I 
could not think of plucking one!” 

“ Why should you tremble, dear child ?* 
said her father, — “ a white rose-tree is not 
so strange as you think. Many gardens 
are full of them. I planted one of them 
here, because I thought it more suitable 
on your mother’s grave than a red rose. 
1 foresaw that this white rose would sur- 
prise you, but I hope now to make it in- 
structive to you.” 

“ Yes, dearest daughter!” he continued, 
taking her hand, “ you are the very image 
your mother. The brilliant bloom of 
2 * 17 


CLARA; OR, THL 


youth, fresher than the hues of the reo 
rose, now adorns your cheeks. But you, 
too, like your fair mother, and that per- 
haps soon, shall be pale in death — pale as 
those white roses that now weep over her 
grave. Let them silently speak to you at 
all times, that salutary lesson inscribed on 
the pallid features of your dead mother — 
‘ See what a change death makes !’ Count 
not on the rosy hue of a complexion — the 
brightest colors soon fade. Flatterers will 
come and tell you that you are fair ; but 
do not trust them. They would make you 
vain and foolish. Think, oh think, that 
you must die ! Beauty fades like the rose ; 
innocence alone has lasting worth. Pre- 
serve it, for it is a most precious treasure. 
The body moulders in the grave, but the 
soul is immortal and destined to unspeak- 
able glory, to infinite happiness. Oh save 

your soul — spurn the grovelling pleasures 
18 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


of earth ; and when evil appears pleasant 
and enticing to you, say to yourself — 
‘ When I shall lie wasted and wan on my 
death-bed, how much would my last hours 
be embittered by the sorrowful conviction, 
that I had departed from virtue!’ Say 
this to yourself in the hour of temptation, 
and you will never sin. Take one of these 
roses, therefore, and wear it on your bo- 
som. If its white hues remind you of the 
grave, still more should they remind you 
to live pure and stainless. Death has no 
terrors for the innocent. Resolve from 
this moment, so to live that, whether be- 
fore the bridal altar, or over your grave, 
the stainless white rose may be a true 
emblem of your soul. As often as you 
see a white rose, renew this purpose.” 


CLARA i OR* THE 


CHAPTER III. 

THE AUNT. 

Hitherto her mother had been Clara's 
only instructress, for her father could spare 
but very little time from his laborious oc 



cupation in the forest, and the school of 
the nearest village was too far away for so 

young a girl. Her mother had taught her 
2a 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


to read and write, and her' instructive con- 
versation was the best sort of education. 
But after the mother’s death, the father 
sent Clara to the village-school of Eschen- 
bach, where, with the exception of the 
excellent Christian instruction of the vil- 
lage pastor, she had in a very short time 
but little to learn ; still there were many 
female accomplishments and household 
duties which she had to acquire, and 
which she could not learn from the old 
housekeeper at home, who, though very 
good and pious, knew nothing of a hun- 
dred little duties which would be neces- 
sary for Clara. The father, therefore, 
though it cost him many a bitter pang, 
resolved to intrust her to the care of his 
sister, who lived in a large town at a con- 
siderable distance from Eschenbach. She 
was the widow of a worthy merchant, 
named Burke : she had no children ; she 


CLARA ; OR, THE 


dealt in silks, lace, and muslin, and also 
had a millinery establishment, directed by 
herself. She was a woman of an excel- 
lent character ; and to her the fathei 
wrote to know whether she would con 
sent to take charge of Clara. 

While he was expecting an answer, a 
chaise rolled up one evening to the door 
of the hunting lodge, and Mrs. Burke her- 
self stepped out, and affectionately em- 
braced her brother. As she had not seer 
Clara for the last three years, she cried 
out in astonishment — “Oh, how tall and 
fair you have grown ! — will you come to 
town with me ?” 

Clara answered with a smile, “ Oh, yes ; 
I have been long wishing for a trip to 
town.” She took the proposal thus light- 
ly, because her father had not disclosed 
his intentions ; but now, when she heard 

that she was to remain in the town for 
22 


RED AND WHITE ROSES*. 

one or two years, she knew not what to 
think. A visit to her affectionate aunt sne 
thought would be delightful, but then how 
could she think of tearing herself from the 
society of her beloved father, who would 
have no one to keep him company ! 

Her father explained the necessity of 
the separation, telling her that she had 
many things to learn in the city. “ But,” 
said he, “none of your fashionable ac- 
complishments ! Drawing, the piano, and 
fine and costly embroidery, are fit only 
for those wealthy ladies who can live on 
their income, and intrust to others the 
care of their domestic concerns. A per- 
son in your state of life should be in- 
structed in cookery, in needlework, in 
knitting, washing, and ironing — in a word, 
in all that is necessary for the economy 
and careful management of a comfortable 
citizen’s establishment.” 


23 


CLARA; OR, THE 


" She can learn all that,” said her aunt, 
“ partly in my house and partly in the 
school.” 

Clara expressed her cordial assent. 

During the three days that Mrs. Burke 
remained with her, she completely gained 
Clara’s affectionate attachment ; but when 
the morning for her departure arrived, 
and the coachman’s horn rung out the 
warning, and the vehicle dashed up to the 
door, and poor Clara was about to be 
separated from her father, she could not 
suppress her feelings, but burst into a 
flood of tears. Throwing herself on her 
knees she begged his blessing, and he, 
with tears in his eyes, prayed — “God be 
with you, my dear child, and guide you 
in all your ways, and restore you to my 
arms good and pious, in health and happi- 
ness, and instructed in every thing that is 
necessary for you.” 

34 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


Mrs. Burke promised to watch over 
Clara with a mother’s care. The father 
accompanied them both to the coach, and 
once more bade his weeping daughter 
farewell. The coach started, and before 
the sun set Clara was in the town. 

3 *5 


CLARA: OR. TUK 


CHAPTER IV. 

CLARA IN THE TOW*. 

Mrs Burke had a very fine house in 
tiie town, and gave her niece an elegantly 
furnished room, such as Clara had nevei 
seen before. During the day she attend- 
ed school, and her remaining hours were 
spent in the millinery-room with her dear 
aunt, who was delighted to find that Clara 
soon became expert at the needle, and 
had an excellent taste for millinery. Mrs. 
Burke was charmed with the childlike 
simplicity, the rural manners, and correct 
conduct of her niece. She loved her most 
tenderly, and Clara, returned her love with 
almost filial affection. 

But in her lonely hours, Clara’s heart 
26 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


was often with her kind father, and even 
when she was sitting with her aunt, her 
thoughts often wandered far away to her 
father’s home. This did not escape her 
aunt. “ Clara,” said she once, “ you are 
always thinking. Don’t you find the 
town more agreeable than the country ? 
There you had only a small room, with 
dull brown walls and narrow window ; 
but here you have this large apartment, 
with its fine windows and beautifully 
flowered carpet, — and your own room 
also has good windows, and is elegantly 
painted.” 

“ True,” said Clara with a sigh, “ the 
walls of my own room at home were 
brown, and the window, with its little 
round panes, was very narrow; but it 
was beautiful to see the red beams of the 
morning sun streaming m through that 
window, or gilding with their evening 


CLARA; OR THIS 


tints the leaves of the trees. And when 
1 opened the window, I had before me a 
paradise of blooming meadow and rich 
green forests ; but here in the town I can 
never see the sun set — never see a rain- 
bow — I can see nothing but the gray walls 
and the brown roofs of the neighboring 
houses.” 

“ But,” said hei aunt, “ are not our broad 
streets, with their beautiful rows of houses, 
more pleasant than the dingy village lane, 
and the straw-thatched cabins of Eschen- 
bach?” 

“ Your streets are certainly more splen- 
did,” answered Clara, “but still what can 
we see here but stone ? In the country 1 
had a carpet of deep green sward, be- 
decked with flowers ; but here the hard 
pavements are disagreeable both to the 
eyes and feet, — and though our houses in 
the country are covered with thatch, are 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


they not screened by the beautiful flowers 
and fruits of the shading trees ?” 

“ Oh ! you are always boasting of your 
fields and flowers,” said the aunt; “but 
cannot we here in town get in abun- 
dance, and for a very small sum, what 
country people gather with great toil from 
their corn-fields, and meadows, and fruit- 
trees ?” 

“ Perhaps so,” says Clara ; “ and yet 
since I came to town I have not tasted 
such rich cream as we had in the country ; 
and the strawberries that I used to gather 
in the forest were sweeter to smell and 
taste than any I have seen in your mar- 
ket. The yellow pears and purple plums, 
too, that you could shake fresh into your 
lap from the trees in the country, were 
better than all you could find in the mar- 
ket, if you were to search every stall in 
it.” 

29 


3 * 


CLARA ; OR, THE 


"That may be,” answered the aunt; 
u but at least you hear and see many 
things in town* which you could never 
find in the country. Were not the illu- 
minations splendid last night? and have 
you ever heard any thing grander than the 
music of the joybells and the drums ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Clara, “ the many 
thousand lights we saw were pretty 
enough, but what were they when com- 
pared to the moon, and the bright twin- 
kling stars which I often saw rising over 
the dark forest into the blue sky, when 1 
sat with my dear father and mother on 
the bench before our door, and when my 
mother and I joining our voice with the 
soft deep tones of my father, sang togeth- 
er that fine old song — 

* The pale moon has ascended 
To her golden throne above !’ ” 

“ Oh, sing that song for me, Clara,” said 

30 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


ner aunt, “ you have such a clear, sweet 
voice, that I am always delighted to heai 
you.” 

Clara consented without difficulty and 
•ang : — 

“ The pale moon has ascended 
To her golden throne above ; 

And the stars around her, blended 
In mazy circles, move ; 

But beneath, a dusky shadow 
On the lonely forest lies, 

And along the silent meadow 
The curling vapors rise. 

a And night o’er all is stealing, 

With noiseless footstep, down — 

O’er the shepherd’s lonely shieling. 

And through the busy town. 

And the troubled, from their sorrow, 

Find a peaceful respite now, 

And the care-imprinted furrow 
Fades from the mourner’s brow. 

*Oh, grant us, Lord, thus ever 

To raise our thoughts to Thee;— 

Grant us our hearts to sever 
From earthly vanity I — 


31 


CLARA : OR, THE 


Grant us on earth to serve Thee 
With childlike truth and love, 

And thus, at last, deserve Thee 
In Thy blissful home above !” 

The aunt embraced her niece most af- 
fectionately. “ Dear Clara,” said she, 
“ you sing with great taste and feeling. 
It was not merely the sweet music — ev- 
ery word came from your heart. May 
you always persevere in these senti* 
ments.” 


3 2 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


CHAPTER V. 

THE FATHER’S DEATH. 

C ra was always overjoyed whenevei 
her father came to town, which was regu- 
larly twice a year; he also had every 
reason to be happy, from the many good 
accounts he heard of her conduct. On 
one of his visits, Clara was sorely grieved 
to see him very pale, and very much al- 
tered for the worse. “ Dear Clara,” said 
he, “you have now been almost two years 
in town — you have learned enough for a 
person in your rank of life. I want you 
at home. As I have an assistant now, 1 
do not spend so much of my time in the 
forest and I feel very lonely without your 
company At the close of this year I 

33 


CLARA; OR, THE 


will return and bring you home, and I 
trust that you will make me happy during 
the remainder of my days.” 

Mrs. Burke was very unwilling to let 
Clara go home, still she would not and 
could not oppose the father’s will. Clara 
counted the days and hours until his re- 
turn. But one morning the postman came 
to the door with a letter. It had a black 



■RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


seal, and was directed to Mrs. Burke, in 
the handwriting of the parish priest of Es- 
chenbach. Clara turned pale, and, trem- 
bling with gloomy foreboding, she gave 
the letter to Mrs. Burke. Mrs. Burke 
opened and read it. It was the announce- 
ment of the sudden death of Clara’s father! 
Poor Clara was overwhelmed with an ag- 
ony of grief. 

Her aunt endeavored to console her. 
“ He is happy,” she said. “ He was good 
and virtuous, and he is now in heaven 
with your mother. We also shall see 
them there, if we be good and submissive 
to the will of God.” But Clara wept and 
sobbed incessantly — her eyes were red 
and swollen with grief — she could neither 
eat nor sleep. 

In the morning her soirow burst forth 
afresh — “Alas! I am a poor, poor orphan, 
without father or mother.” 


35 


CLARA; OR. THE 


“ Dearest Clara,” said her aunt, “ I adopt 
you as my child — I will have a legal deed 
drawn up to that effect; my house, my 
goods, all my property shall be yours.” 

“ Oh,” said Clara, “ that has not cost me 
one thought. I do not grieve that I have 
been left almost penniless. It is his loss 
— the loss of so good, so affectionate a 
father, that afflicts me so deeply. All the 
wealth in the world, not even a kingdom, 
can supply his place to me. I have but 
one wish — to die, to be once more with 
my good mother and my dear father ib 
heaven!” 


RED \ND WHITE ROSES. 


CHAPTER VI. 

JULIA. 

Some days after Clara had received the 
sad news of the death of her father, she 
was sent with some millinery to Mrs. Von 
Hiigel, a respectable widow lady, whose 
husband had been steward of the royal 
lands, and had died about half a year be- 
fore. After his death, his widow and her 
daughter, a virtuous young lady, about 
Clara’s own age, had settled in the town, 
where they lived on their property. Busi- 
ness had brought Clara to visit them sev- 
eral times already, and she had always 
been very kindly received. But when she 
presented herself now in mourning, and 
bearing on her countenance the impression 

4 37 


CLARA; OR, THE 


>f her sorrows, Mrs. Von Hiigei asked ht/f 
for whom she was in mourning Clara 
ourst into tears, and told of her father’s 
death, and also of her mother’s. The 
kind widow asked where she was from, 
and who were her parents ? Clara told 
her. “Merciful God!” exclaimed the wid- 
ow, “ I knew your mother well. When 1 
was in my father’s house, she was our 
servant. Alas ! is she dead so soon r 
She was a good and virtuous soul. 1 
knew your father too, as he often came 
to our house on business ; he was an ex- 
cellent man. Well, they are both happiei 
in heaven now, than we are. Let us lead 
such lives here, that we may be worthy 
to meet them hereafter.” 

Clara wept bitterly, and Miss Julia sym- 
pathized deeply in her grief, for the mem- 
ory of her dear father rusked fresh on her 
will; she, too, began to weep, and even 

38 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


the mother could not repress her tears, 
All three were greatly affected. 

Community of sorrow begot a friendly 
feeling between them, and when Mrs. Von 
Hiigel and Julia had discovered, from 
Clara’s simple story, her good sense, her 
noble heart, ner piety, her love for her 
parents, and her esteem for every virtue, 
they became, even after an interview ol 
half an hour, affectionately attached to 
her. She was obliged to promise to visit 
them every Sunday after divine service 
and she returned home greatly consoled. 

According to her promise, Clara went 
the next Sunday, and was most kindly 
received. Again was she obliged to re- 
vive for her friends the sorrowful but 
pleasing recollection of her mother. Julia 
showed her her work and books, played 
on the piano with great taste, and sang a 
beautiful song, in which she was accom- 


CLARA ; OR, TLR 


panied by Clara, whose exquisite voice 
agreeably surprised her young friend. 
Again Clara was obliged to renew her 
promise of the Sunday visit. They both 
then sang many songs, several of which 
were sacred; and Julia, from her small 
but select library, read several books 
which happily combined entertainment 
and instruction. Clara listened to them 
with delight, for she had a soul sensitively 
alive to whatever was beautiful and good. 
When she heard a pathetic passage, the 
tears gushed to her eyes; and when she 
heard a humorous one, it struck her fancy 
at once, and called up the merry laugh 
from the bottom of her heart. 

In order to enjoy more of Clara’s com- 
pany, Julia requested her mother to give 
her some employment in the house ; her 
mother complied, and Clara and Julia thus 
often spent three or four days together. 

40 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 

These days flew rapidly, for whether a 
table or at work, the mother had many 
agreeable and instructive stories to relate. 
Clara was overjoyed at having this ex- 
cellent opportunity of improving herself 
by the conversation of such a prudent 
and virtuous woman, and of her amiable 
daughter. She never left them without 
finding herself improved and confirmed in 
her good purposes. Her aunt, also, was 
charmed on finding that her niece never 
came home to her without having some- 
thing agreeable to tell. After some time 
Clara went every evening, and at all her 
leisure hours, and always remained with 
Julia until the lamps were lighted; and 
she thanked God for giving her so true 
and worthy a friend. By degrees she was 
consoled for her father’s death, and recov- 
ered her usual cheerfulness. 

4 * 4 * 


Cl.ARA: OR. THR 


CHAPTER VII. 

YOUNG MR. VON WINNIG 

Ci.ara had now reached her eighteenth 
year. Her uncommon beauty, her affabil- 
ity, her artless demeanor, her gentleness, 
and the gayety which sprung from the in- 
nocence of her heart and beamed in her 
eyes, all attracted universal admiration. 

One day, two young ladies came into 
the shop. They were the daughters of 
Mr. Von Winnig, a banker, who had late- 
ly obtained a title, and was generally re- 
ported to be very wealthy Each of them 
purchased silk for a dress. They did not 
consider the price of the most costly silks 
too high for them ; but they told Mrs. 
Burke tc set down her own price in their 

42 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


bill, and that they would settle the mattei 
in their yearly accounts ; at the same time 
requesting Mrs. Burke to allow Clara to 
go home with them for some days, to help 
them to make the dresses. Mrs. Burke 
very readily assented. Next morning when 
Clara went, she was most kindly received. 
They sat around the work-table, but the 
two Miss Winnigs did very little work. 
Work to them was a mere pastime. They 
were entirely taken up with retailing all 
the latest news of the town, which some- 
times was not of a very creditable charac- 
ter They made the wickedness and folly 
of men the subject of their merriment, and 
laughed immoderately at their own stories 
and remarks 

Their brother came in after some time. 
He was a fine figure, was dressed in the 
newest fashion, conversed with sprightli- 
oess upon every topic, and had something 

43 


CLARA; OR, TfiS 


agreeable to say to every one. “ W hat 
angel is this you have with you?” said 
he. as he sat down with them. He over- 
powered Clara with flattery. No one had 
ever paid her such compliments before, 
and though all that he said did not please 
her, his flattery was far from being dis- 
pleasing. His fine person, his wit and 
eloquence, threw all his failings into the 
shade in the eyes of the inexperienced 
Clara. Young Edward was now T her only 
thought. She imagined that the young 
gentleman would marry her. She began 
to be more scrupulously attentive to her 
dress, visited her new friends more fre- 
quently, and so neglected her true and 
affectionate friend Julia, that she scarcely 
ever paid her a visit. 


44 


RED iA’D WHITE ROSES. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MADAM VON HUGEL. 

M adam Von Hug ei. observed with sor- 
row, that Clara frequented that house. 
She trembled for Clara's innocence, hon- 
or, and happiness ; she knew that the rep- 
utation of the two ladies (whose mother 
was dead) did not stand very high, and 
especially that their brother, with all his 
politeness and good -1) reeding, was really 
a profligate young man, and a very im 
proper companion for a young person. 

Tne sisters were aware of their broth- 
er’s profligacy, but made no attempt to 
check it, so long as he overlooked, or 
even openly made matter of sport of their 
own levity Old Mr. Von Winnig was a 

45 


CLARA ; OR, THE 


rery good man in his own way, but he 
was completely blind to the faults of his 
children. He sat over his books the whole 
day, counting his gold, and went in the 
evening to enjoy his glass of wine and his 
game of cards, and read the newspapers 
with his friends, leaving matters at home 
to go on as they might. His house was, 
every evening, a meeting-place for large 
parties of gay young persons, who spent 
their time in dancing, singing, and all sorts 
of amusements. 

Good Madam Von Huge! warned Clara 
of her danger, with great candor and af- 
fection. “My dearest Clara , : !> she would, 
say, “ you can never be happy unless yor 
remain as virtuous and innocent as you 
are beautiful. A fair form is indeed a gift 
from God, and we should thank Him for it. 
Still, it is not only a fleeting but also a 
very dangerous gift. Your beauty you 

46 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. # 

consider your richest treasure — take care 
that it be not your most deadly ruin. Your 
dress, too, is very elegant. Dress ought 
to be attended to — it should be neat and 
clean; but to dress beyond our means and 
rank of life is not praiseworthy, but cen- 
surable, and lowers a young woman in the 
eyes of sensible men. She that listens to 
every flatterer will, in the end, be de- 
spised by all. A young woman who has 
no other recommendation but her beauty, 
gayety, and dress, may do very well for a 
dance, but no sensible man would think 
of leading her to the altar. To fear God, 
to live piously and industriously, to be 
modest and retired, makes a girl agreeable 
to God and man, and adorns her more 
than gold and pearls. God watches over 
and provides for her, and gives her innu- 
merable blessings. Here, as in every 
thing else, it is true to say that ‘Piety is 

47 


CLARA; OR. THE 


ever profitable, and has a promise both for 
this world and the next.’ 

“ But levity and love of vain amuse- 
ments and pleasure, injure both body ind 
soul, and plunge us in temporal and eter- 
nal ruin. You have two ways before you 
— one which, though rough in the begin- 
ning, leads to happiness ; another, which 
appears strewn with flowers, but leads to 
perdition. Choose now which of the two 
you please ; but, mark my words, you 
will in the end know the truth of what 
I say — your own experience will confirm 
it.” 

Julia was present, and the bright tears 
were trembling in her eyes. She seized 
Clara’s hand, and exclaimed, “Oh! dearest 
friend, you have so many good qualities 
— prudence, affection, a good education, 
and a fair form — it were a pity that any 
evil should befall you. It would break my 

48 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


heart! Let us both hearken to the wise 
warnings of my mother.” 

Clara was very much moved, and prom- 
ised never to forget their true and affec- 
tionate advice 


5 


49 


I'.LAKA ; OK. THE 


CHAPTER IX. 

INVITATION TO A BALL. 

W/fTN Clara came home she was very 
ftofis ) /e, and as she sat at her work in the 
shop, she made a thousand good resolu- 
tions. As it was Saturday evening, she 
rose early from her business, and was pre- 
paring to close the shop, but just at that 
moment, young Mr. Von Winnig entered 
to purchase some gloves for his sisters. 
“On Monday, my fail friend,” said he, 
“will be a grand festival. The new ball- 
room in the English park, about a mile 
distant from the town, is to be opened. 
My sisters are going there in the morn- 
ing after breakfast, and request the favor 
of your company. We dine abroad — then 

50 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


come the dance and splendid fireworks in 
the evening Of course I could not be ab- 
sent on such a festive occasion, and you, 
too, must promise not to disappoint us on 
any account. You will be the brightest 
ornament — the very queen of the festival. 
Allow me to present you with this bouquet 
of fresh roses, which I have worn on my 
breast ; let it be my pledge that I shall 
open the dance with you. The beautiful 
red rose is the emblem of pleasure, and 
certainly, my dearest friend, we shall en- 
joy real pleasure to-morrow.” 

Clara took the roses and promised to 
go. At supper she asked her aunt’s per- 
mission to take a ride on Monday morning 
with the two Misses Winnig. Her aunt 
consented with pleasure. The good wo- 
man was an excellent judge of silks and 
millinery, but knew very little about men. 
As long as the two young ladies gave her 


CLARA ; OR, THE 


their custom, she regarded the common 
reports about them and their brother as 
vile slanders. She felt not a little flat- 
tered also at the high honor conferred on 
her dear niece Clara. She had not the 
least doubt that Mr. Von Winnig would 
marry her beautiful niece. “ What doubt 
can be of the matter?” said she to her- 
self ; — “ did not Miss Winnig’s waiting- 
maid, when she saw me yesterday buying 
some yards of riband, tell me in the great- 
est confidence — ‘ Miss Clara, if she wishes, 
may soon be my mistress T ” 

S3 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


CHAPTER X. 

A STARTLING ATPARITION. 

The Monday morning was fair ami 
cloudless, and promised a beautiful day. 
Clara rose early and spent a full hour be- 
fore the looking-glass, arranging her dark 
rich hair, fastening her gaudy necklace 
of large imitation pearls, and adjusting 
her new gold ear-rings. She put on her 
usual neat dress when she was going out, 
to make some purchases, but prepared a 
beautiful muslin gown, which she reserved 
for the future sports of the day. Julia 
met her on her way. 

“ Ah ! dear, dear Clara/' said Julia, “is 

it really true that you have changed your 

mind so soon, and are going to the ball 
5* w 


claka; or, tiie 


to-day ? Oh ! do not go, my dear friend 1 
what a terrible calamity, if you should fall 
a victim to your levity ! Your love of 
these vain amusements must withdraw 
you from nobler pleasures, which are a 
foretaste of the joys of heaven. The vile 
dances which have now made their way 
from the lowest alehouses into houses of 
respectability, rob many a young maid of 
the health of both body and soul. Trust 
not the airy* assurances of this light 
young man ; they are like those shining 
glass pearls set in your hair — not genuine, 
and very frail. Believe me, Mr. Yon 
Winnig will never marry any young wo- 
man who has not, at least, as much prop- 
erty as himself ; and even though your 
aunt should leave you her whole house 
and establishment, you would still be poor 

* There is a pun in the original here which it is 
Impossible to translate into English. 


RED AND WHITE HOSES. 


in his eyes. His intentions are not hou- 
orable — he is amusing himself at your 
expense. Oh, then, dearest Clara, take 
warning in time! Go on in your present 
course, and you run the risk of losing vour 
innocence and honor, and of plunging 
yourself for the remainder of your days 
into the utmost wretchedness.” 

Clara answered sharply, — “ Edward is 
not so wicked as you think. He is, on 
the contrary, the best of men. I have 
pledged my word to go to the park with 
him, and 1 cannot retract. But we are 
spending the time in this conversation: I 
shall be too late.” With these words she 
left Julia, and hurried on her way. 

While making her purchases, her 
thoughts were elsewhere, and she could 
not restrain her imagination. After she 
had made her purchases, she returned 
in a great hurry to her aunt’s, put 

55 


CLARA; OR, THE 


on her fine new white gown, and her rose- 
colored bonnet, and had nothing to do 
now but to place in her breast the roses 
which she had received from Mr. Von 
Winnig. She had kept the roses in cold 
water, in a back room, to preserve them 

fresh. But when she hurried into the 

■V 

room, and was stretching out her hand to 
take the flowers, she suddenly stood slock 



jj 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


still, like one struck by lightning, and 
withdrew her outstretched arm in evident 
terror ! Instead of the red roses which 
she had left there, she found a bunch of 
white ones ! 

Now she had not seen a white rose 
since she last wept over her mother’s 
grave. She knew not whether she was 
awake or dreaming, and so striking was 
the impression on her senses, that she felt 
as if she stood once more over her moth- 
er’s grave. The last admonitions of that 
dying mother — the words of her departed 
father beside the grave — the good resolu- 
tions which she had then made — all rushed 
together on her memory at this moment. 

“Oh, God!” she exclaimed, “I feel as 
if I heard the voice of my dear mother 
crying out to me from the grave — "Oh, 
Clara! preserve your innocence!’ or the 
solemn words of my father, which he ut- 

S3 


CLARA; OR. THE 


tered over her grave, and repeated at out 
iast parting — ‘Oh, Clara! save your soul ’ 
My kind mother— my dear father 1 sadlv 
have I neglected your counsels !” 

She began to weep, and the big tears 
streamed over her now pallid cheeks. 

At this moment, Julia, who had con- 
cealed herself unobserved in the next 
room, entered the apartment. 

“Oh, Julia!” said Clara, still weeping 
and throwing her arms around her, “Oh, 
Julia! you are my good angel. It was 
you who left the white roses here to warn 
me. You knew well from the history I 
gave you, the impression which the white 
roses would make on me. They have 
spoken more forcibly than any language. 
Alas ! I have been very vain, foolish, and 
light-minded. Can you ever forgive m6? 
Oh, do forgive me! I will ever make it 

58 


RED AND WHITE ROSES. 


my constant study to repay your kind 
affection. Yes, you are a real friend — 
you always told me the truth — and ever 
when I slighted you, and turned a deaf 
ear to your warnings, you have found 
means to make these flowers speak to my 
eyes, and frighten me into a sense of 
duty/ 

Julia, in tears, warmly embraced her 
friend. “ From this moment,” said she, 
“ you are my friend as before. Yes, we 
both pledge ourselves anew, to walk hand 
in hand the paths of virtue. May our 
hearts be ever pure and stainless as these 
white roses, and thus never forfeit the 
pleasures of which the red rose is the 
emblem !” She then took the two white 
roses, gave one to Clara, and placed the 
other on her own bosom. “ Let these 
white roses remind us in future of this 


59 


CLARA; OR, THE 


comDact.” said she — * a compact on which 
God himself looks down with pleasure.” 

Clara laid aside her festive attire, took 
the pearls out of her hair, put on her usual 
modest dress, and went with her friend to 
Julia’s mother. The good lady was de- 
lighted with Julia’s ingenuous friendship, 
and Clara’s repentance ; and embraced 
both with the most maternal tenderness. 
Clara reverenced Madam Von Hugel as 
her mother, obeyed her with filial sub- 
mission, visited her every day, and often 
worked whole weeks together in her house. 
Clara and Julia were like sisters — they had 
but one heart and one soul. 

Mrs. Burke was very well pleased with 
this intercourse, but still she never could 
approve of Clara’s conduct, in entirely 
giving up the acquaintance of the Misses 
Von Winnig. But after some time their 


RED AND WHITE ROSES 


father's establishment stopped payment, 
and involved a great number ot persons 
in verv severe loss. The blame ot this 
disaster was justly ascribed to the evil 
doings of the son, and to the lavish ex- 
travagance of the daughters. Mrs. Burke 
was highly irritated at losing a hundred 
florins by these people, but she was sin- 
cerely happy that her niece had so soon 
broken off all intercourse with them. 
“ Madam Von Hiigel,” said she, “ was 
right; she is really a very sensible wo- 
man. She has more prudence than my- 
self.” 

Clara and Julia were universally es- 
teemed for their amiable and virtuous 
•on duct. Young men of the highes char- 
acter anxiously sought the honor of their 
hands : and when Clara was led to the 

Drida. altar, she wore a garland of reh 
6 


61 


CLARA, ETC. 


and white roses; and in a short time 
after, Julia wore a bridal wreath of tne 
same beautiful flowers. 



V 








































































! 

I 

r 




t 

* 
















i 




















" She forgot to water the beautiful flowers in 
the hall of the castle, which were entrusted to 
her care, and they withered and perished "• — 
P^ge 8. 

















[TTLE Minna 
was a kind, ten- 
der-hearted girl, 
who willingly 
shared all she 
had with others, 
gave clothes to 
poor children, prepared broth and other 
food for the sick, carried it to them with 
her own hands, and, in a word, was 
never so happy as when she could re- 
lieve the wants of others, with the last 

7 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


penny of her own pocket-money. But 
with all her good qualities, incredible 
as it may appear, she often caused great 
annoyance to good people — for she was 
very forgetful. She made many prom 
ises — and forgot them all next day. She 
often gave a large price for a thing she 
did not want; and it was only when a 
poor person appealed to her charity, 
that she began to think what good use 
she could have made of her money. At 
another time, she forgot to water the 
beautiful flowers in the hail of the castle, 
which were intrusted to her care, and 
they withered and perished, to the great 
grief of her mother. At another time, 
poor Minna — she, who would give her 
own clothes to the poor, and would not 
hurt the smallest thing that breathes— 
would forget her own dear Canary bird, 
and starve it to death. 


8 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


In the village, not far from Minna’s 
paternal castle, there lived Sophia, a poor 
little girl. Her father, Colonel Bruhl, a 
worthy old soldier, had been disabled 
by his wounds in foreign service, and 
was now living on his pension. He had 
returned to his native land, to spend 
the remainder of his days in peace. But 
his scanty income was scarcely sufficient 
for his support. His pension was not 
paid regularly, and many months had 
elapsed just then, without bringing any 
remittance to him. 

Sophia, his only daughter, supported 
him, in the mean time, with her needle, 
and other useful accomplishments of .her 
sex. She was a great favorite of Min 
na’s, who gave her a great deal oi 
work, took lessons from her in embroi- 
dery, paid her most liberally, and never 
addressed her with a less affectionate 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


name than her dear friend. But even 
this dear friend often suffered severely 
from Minna’s forgetfulness. 



Minna’s mother fell dangerously ill. 
The most eminent physician of the near- 
est town was called in ; and Minna had 
promised that he should pay a visit to 
Sophia’s father, who still, after the lapse 
of so ^ many years, often suffered great 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


torments from his wounds. Sophia had 
no sooner heard of the physician’s visit 
to the castle, than she ran with all speed 
to remind Minna of her promise, but 
before she arrived, the physician was 
gone. Minna remembered her promise 
the moment Sophia appeared — she was 
confused — confounded — she blushed, beg- 
ged Sophia’s pardon, and expressed such 
hearty sympathy for the sufferings of 
the poor officer, that the tears streamed 
down her cheeks. But the physician — 
alas ! to call him back, was impossible. 

On another occasion, Minna proposed, 
with the help of Sophia, to embroider 
a screen for her mother’s birth-day. Ac- 
cordingly, Minna brought to her young 
friend a beautifully painted pattern, rep- 
resenting a garland of flowers. “We 
can easily work the garland,” said So- 
phia ; “but I must go to town myself 

11 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


nnd purchase the silk ; for it requires 
an experienced eye to select proper silk, 
to represent, truthfully, the delicate shades 
and tints of the flowers.” 

“ That’s the best plan,” answered Min- 
na ; “ if you, my kind friend, be so good 
as to take the trouble. In the mean 
time, during your absence, I will take 
care of your father, and prepare his din- 
ner, and bring it to him with my own 
hands.” 

Sophia relied on her young friend’s 
promise, and started for town. But, un- 
fortunately, it so happened that a dis- 
tinguished visiter drove from town to 
visit the castle, and, amid the distrac- 
tions and pleasure of this visit, Minna 
forgot her promise. The poor officer 
was confined to his room. He could 
not stir ; and as all his neighbors were 

out in the meadows at the hay-making 
12 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


no person was within call. Bread and 
water were his only fare — while all the 
luxuries of life were plenteously circula- 
ting at the festive board of the castle. 

Next morning Minna, accompanied by 
two young ladies, her visiters, went to 
walk in the village. Sophia was water- 
ing a piece of linen, the production of 
her industrious winter evenings — which 
she had laid out to bleach on the small 
green plot, between her house and the 
stream. Minna's heart smote her when 
she saw Sophia, for it was then only she 
remembered her promise. But Sophia 
was too delicate to upbraid her friend 
in presence of the strangers. Still she 
felt strongly inclined to convey some 
intimation, that, henceforward, she ought 
not to be so forgetful, at least, in such 
matters. Sophia invited the three young 
ladies to see her garden. They entered, 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT 


and admired the beautiful rose-trees wh/cn 
she had planted with her own hand, and 
the forget-me-nots which grew wild on 
the brink of the stream. She then con- 
ducted them into her parlor, and, at the 
request of Minna, showed them all her 
work. While the young ladies were en- 
gaged admiring the beautiful patterns, 
and exquisite embroidery, Sophia return- 
ed to the garden and selected some 
flowers. To the two strangers she gave 
roses ; but to the forgetful Minna, a 
bunch of forget-me-nots — simply, but 
tastefully wreathed with some green 
leaves. Minna understood the meaning 
of this present. She was deeply sensible 
of the refined delicacy of her friend’s 
device, and thanked her, with her whole 
soul, for having taken this means to ad- 
monish her of her forgetfulness. “ Truly, 

you know' the flowers that become me 
u 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


best,” said she, blushing, and placing the 
bl je nosegay on her bosom. 

Minna returned, with the two young 
ladies, to the castle, and accompanied 
them to the apartments that were pre- 
pared for them. They placed their dow- 
ers in a crystal vase near the window. 
After the lapse of a few weeks, Minna 
happened to enter that chamber ; the 
young visiters had carried away their 
own flowers, but there stood Minna’s 
“ forget-me-nots,” which, to this very mo- 
ment, she had completely forgotten. The 
fragrant leaves, which she had wound 
around her nosegay, were withered, but 
the forget-me-nots, themselves, were of 
as fresh and vivid a blue as on the day 
they were gathered from the river’s brink. 
Minna was not a little amazed. “ How 
is this possible,” said she; “there is not 
a drop of water in the glass, and all the 

15 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


other shrubs are as yellow and shrivelled 
as autumnal leaves.” She examined the 
bunch more closely, and discovered that 
the forget-me-nots were not natural, but 
artificial. Sophia was a perfect mistress 
of that delightful art of imitating natural 
flowers — -she had made these forget-me- 
nots with her own hand — and so cor- 
rect was the outline, so true and nat- 
ural the coloring, that it required no 
ordinary skill to distinguish them from 
real flowers. 

“ You are perfectly right, kind So- 
phia,” thought Minna, “ I understand you 
perfectly. Indeed, I stand too much in 
need of some such admonition. These 
unfading flowers are a perpetual warn- 
ing to me ‘not to forget:’ never — never 
more, dear friend, will I forget thee. 
These very flowers shall I henceforth 
use. to remind me of my duty.” 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


Without further delay, she took tne 
blooming forget-me-nots, with their with- 
ered wreath, and placed them in a beau* 
tiful crystal vase, elegantly ornamented. 
Then hastening away to her friend, So- 
phia, she cordially thanked her for her 
happy device, and praised the exquisite 
skill and taste she had shown in making 
the flowers. “ Whenever I make a prom- 
ise, henceforward,” said she, “ I will set 
these flowers on my work-tabl-e or piano, 
and not allow them to be removed by 
any person but myself, when my promise 
is fulfilled.” 

“ Bravo, bravo,” exclaimed the old 
colonel, “do so. Whenever I wish to 
remember any thing particularly, I al- 
ways place a piece of white paper on 
my box, and my sergeant used to make 
a mark in his pocket-book ; but, for a 

young lady, floweis are the most aj>- 
a* 17 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


propviate memento. I admire the happy 
suggestion, which led men to select the 
most beautiful flowers in the field, as a 
memento of sweet associations, and call 
them forget-me-nots ; but 1 admire, stil 1 
more, the idea of using them to remind us 
of our duties, especially the sacred duties 
of charity. Happy thought, indeed — it 
delights me — it is a most happy thought.’* 
Minna kept her word, and the forget- 
me-nots secured many blessings to her- 
self and to the poor. Many a poor per- 
son, whom Minna would have forgotten, 
had to thank those sweet flowers for a 
bowl of good soup, or a glass of wine, 
or a piece of bread. Many a duty, once 
carelessly neglected, was now punctually 
discharged — and many a sorrow and re 
morse of conscience, and painful remem- 
brance, were now spared to Minna, by 

the silent forget-me-nots. 

18 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


19 


The great improvement in her hahits 
was soon obvious to the fond eye of 
her mother. “ How is it,” she asked, 
“ that you do not forget the slightest 
thing now ? What has caused this great 
change ?” 

Minna told the whole story of the 
forget-me-nots, with which her mother 
was highly pleased. “ You are good 
children,” said she, “ and I must find 
some means of making you happy.” She 
accordingly purchased, from the gold- 
smith in the town, two rings of the 
purest gold, and had set on each of them 
a forget-me-not in precious stones — five 
sky-blue sapphires, and a yellow diamond 
•tone in the centre. 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


When the rings came home, she gave 
one of them to Minna. “ Make the same 
use of this ring,” said she, “ as you have 
formerly made of the forget-me-nots. 
Whenever you make a promise, or are 
engaged in any important concern, put 
this forget-me-not ring on your finger, 
and do not lay it aside, until you have 
fulfilled that promise, or performed your 
business. This other ring, I intend for 
your good friend, Sophia, whose suc- 
cessful device for reforming your for- 
getful habits, eminently deserves some 
acknowledgment at my hands. That 
plain ‘forget-me-not/ which she present- 
ed to you, is of infinitely greater value 
than the ring which I now present to 
her.” 

Minna hurried away to present the 
ring to her friend. “ Oh !” said she, 

“you have no need of such a ring. You 
20 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


never forget any thing. Still, accept 
and wear this ring, as a keepsake from 
a friend, on whom your simple flower 
has conferred a priceless benefit.” 



“ Ah ! my dear friend,” said Sophia, 
“ who is the person that does not some- 
times require to be reminded of his duty ? 
Whenever we look on this costly forget- 
me-not, may we resolve to do some good 


21 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


act ; to relieve some poor person ; oi 
to do whatever is in our power to make 
others happy.” Both promised faithfullv 
to carry that resolution into effect. 

“ Well resolved, my children,” said the 
colonel, “ and whoever cannot wear so 
costly a ring as yours, may he still make 
your good resolution, whenever he sees 
the forget-me-not growing wild in the 
meadow or on the river’s brink. But 
above all, may that sweet flower remind 
him of Him that made him, and whom 
every flower should bring to our minds. 
Then would every forget-me-not that 
grows in our fields, be of more real 
value than if its stem were of gold, and 
its leaves of the most costly diamonds.” 

This adventure of the forget-me-nots 
was attended with other good effects. 
When stern winter set in, and all the 
fields around the castle were clothed 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


every morning in their chilly mantle of 
hoar-frost, and the hoarse winds howled 
through the halls, Minna and her mother 
returned to their town residence. The 
story of the forget-me-not was circulated 
among Minna’s numerous acquaintances, 
and forget-me-not rings became a fashion. 
Every person knew the circumstance that 
led to the adoption of the ring — and the 
prince himself now remembered that 
good old colonel, whom he had formerly 
trusted and esteemed. The paymaster, 
who had forgotten to pay the pension, 
soon received a royal admonition, which 
he could not easily forget ; and the poor 
colonel, whose wants had been previously 
unknown, was rewarded with a con- 
siderable augmentation of pay. For this 
unexpected change of his fortunes, many 
a time did the grateful old soldier ex- 
claim, “How great are the blessings 


THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 


which God has poured down on me 
and others through that simple Forget • 
me-not !’ 



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